


Heartstrings

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, PTSD, aot - Freeform, attack on titan - Freeform, canon-compliant AU, ereri, really slow build, shingeki no kyojin - Freeform, snk, wordbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1212067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The loss of his squad takes everything from him, including his will to live. All he has left are the notes he keeps receiving beneath his door every day, once before breakfast, and once after dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breathe

Everyone told me it'd go away, they all did. But it didn't. The guilt and depression had planted itself deep in my gut, and it had flowered from there, blossoming into a gruesome and sickening weed that wormed its way into my inner workings and mentality. 

I tried not to think about _her_. I tried not to think about her strawberry-blonde hair and her hazel eyes. I tried not to think about the way she'd kissed me before we'd left for the 57th expedition beyond the walls. 

Mostly, I tried not to associate my romantic feelings for her with the fact that she was dead. The image of her mangled corpse brought bile to my throat and made me want to vomit food that was no longer there, because I hadn't eaten in days. I'd tried, but the moment something entered my stomach, it came right back up. 

I tried to tell myself it was just a state of mind, but that just made it worse, if at all possible. If anything, it made me feel guilty for feeling anything at all that was remotely close to emotion. I was a soldier. I wasn't supposed to feel that way. Love wasn't supposed to be part of my life, and if it was, it was a risky business. People died in the field all the time. Love wasn't the first thing on people's minds anymore. The closest thing to love most people got was a quick fuck, and more often than not, it was something of a stress-relief ordeal. 

She had been more than that, and I'd only realized that as I'd fallen from the tree, my mind hazy from the gore and macabre of the situation. I'd seen many deaths in my time as a soldier, but none of them had been as graphic and gruesome as hers. Perhaps they had. Perhaps I'd become desensitized in my veteran status. 

However, her corpse did not fail to horrify. The image plastered itself to my eyelids and it would not let go, the way her crimson life clung to the tree and glistened in the dim sunlight was enough to rid me of the meager lunch I'd eaten earlier. 

Erwin had caught me in my daze, and he'd sent me after Ackerman. We'd retrieved Jaeger together, and returned to the carts shortly afterward.

I didn't object when Erwin ordered us to throw the bodies off of the cart. _She wasn't anything to me anymore_ , I had lied to myself. _She's just a corpse._

I'd gone straight to my quarters upon our return, and I hadn't emerged since. The only person who was insane enough to try and contact me was Hanji, which I was sort of grateful for. It was nice to know that there was still someone who worries. I wasn't used to that. 

The first day was more or less of a 'coming to terms with the fact that my lover is dead' kind of day, if you will. I didn't cry the first day. The second day I tried to eat. The moment the piece of wheat bread Hanji had brought me hit my stomach, I darted to the washroom before it could make its reappearance on my carpet. I spent the rest of the day in bed, twirling the covers between my fingertips and occasionally bringing the fabric to my nose. If I tried hard enough, I could smell her perfume. 

The third day was when realization hit me like a brick to the face. I cried. I screamed. I broke the vase I'd been given for my thirtieth birthday. The blue shards littered the floor like razor-sharp droplets of water and I collapsed on the floor. I didn't know how much time passed before I woke from my doze, but by the time I did, it was dark. I cried again. I cried for minutes, perhaps hours. 

I lit a candle and sat down on the floor. I turned to look for the shards of broken vase, but something caught my eye first. 

There was a piece of haphazardly folded paper laying on the ground, just next to the door. I picked it up and unfolded it, wiping the tears and sleep from my eyes. 

Whoever had written this note had shit for handwriting, but I could read it well enough, and I suppose it didn't really matter, at that point. The only words the paper had to offer as far as I could tell were a hastily-written;

 _Are you alright, captain?_

'Yes, I'm perfectly fine,' I thought to myself. Clearly I wasn't, but the fact that someone was concerned enough to send me a note lifted my spirits a little. I tried to recall what everyone's handwriting looked like, but it just wouldn't come to me. My thought process had been kind of jumbled lately anyway. 

I contemplated writing some snarky remark back on the sheet of paper, but I quickly decided against it. I didn't want to disappoint any more people, so I stumbled over to my desk in the dim candlelight and pulled out a quill and ink. 

_"I could be better,"_ I wrote, truthfully. I blew on the paper until the ink was dry, then folded it back up and slid it under the door. 

A few moments later I heard the shuffling of feet and the rustling of paper on the other side of the door. The space beneath it wasn't enough for me to see underneath, so I simply sat there, awaiting a response. I don't know why I wanted a response at all, I just did. It felt better than just sitting there crying. Perhaps the whole 'I don't have to talk at all' aspect was somewhat appealing to me, probably because I had become afraid of my own voice over the course of the past few days.

_Do you want to talk about it?_

No, I really didn't, but at the same time I did. The scenario was still fresh in my mind, yet I felt like I needed to document it somewhere. So I did. 

_Yeah, I guess so. My whole squad was wiped out by the female-type. We were all really close._

We were a bit more than close. Well, at least some of us were. I blew the ink dry once more and slid the paper underneath the door again without folding it this time. 

The response was exactly what I expected. 

_I'm sorry, I know you guys were close._

My fingers shook as I wrote my response. 

_Who are you?_

As I slid the paper underneath the door, I reached for the handle and turned it, but the moment I did, there was a scuffling of feet and paper, and when I opened the door, there was no one there. I closed the door again and crawled over to my bed. I just lay there for a while, wondering. Not wanting to know, just wondering. (Okay, yes, wanting to know.) The thought sent me into an uncomfortable haze of sleep, of which I couldn't find it in myself to complain about. 

The fourth day was worse than the third, and it brought me my first panic attack. 

I woke up short of breath, and thought nothing of it. I took a few deep breaths and that was that. Breakfast was sitting on the table, and I assumed Hanji had brought it in early while I was sleeping. The shards of broken vase were also missing. She worried too much, honestly. 

As I sipped at my tea and nibbled on a bit of the bread, I felt grateful that my appetite had returned, to some degree. At least the bread was staying down. I tried to direct my mind toward happier places, but I seemed to slip in and out of this mindset that something was terribly wrong here. 

I debated whether I should go outside or not, but the moment my hand reached for the door handle, I noticed the note on the floor and picked that up first.

_Good morning, Captain._

There was a small symbol next to the word _captain_ , and I couldn't tell for the life of me what it was supposed to mean. There were two dots and a half-circle, perhaps it was a face or some sort? Yeah, that was it, the two dots were its eyes, and the half circle was the mouth. _That's cute._

I retrieved the pen and ink from my desk to reply, but in my haste the paper slipped in my hand, making a clean slice on my finger in the process. The slice was deep, and it burned. 

_Humanity's strongest, taken down by a paper-cut._

But it wasn't just the keen sting of the slice on my thumb, it was the dark crimson that fell from the wound. 

It was the memory of _her_ that sent me over the edge. 

And before I could render myself in danger, I couldn't breathe. I choked out words for someone, anyone, but I realized that I'd locked the door, _why did I do that, how could I be such an idiot?_

I was crying all over again, a sobbing, blubbering, mass on the floor, and I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, the only thing I could think about was how hard it was to breathe. I screamed, though I'm not entirely sure it was a scream, it was more of a choked cry for help.

"Captain." 

I wasn't sure if I was imagining the voice, or if it was actually there. I wasn't really sure if anything was really there at that point. I couldn't find my voice to respond, I just reached for the door, but when I did, the knob only felt farther away. 

"Breathe," the voice said. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place who it belonged to, and the owner wasn't top priority right now. 

"I'm trying, brat," I retched, and breakfast threatened to make a reappearance on the carpet. 

"No, seriously. Breathe," he said. I could at least assume it was a guy, by now. 

I set a pace to his rhythm, inhaling an exhaling slowly, and every time I hiccuped or my lungs spasmed, he continued the rhythm as if nothing had happened. He certainly knew how to deal with this type of thing, and I wasn't complaining. It took maybe ten minutes, but eventually my breathing became even enough to speak. 

"Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, for now," I exhaled slowly. 

"What triggered you?" There was a shuffling and a crinkle of paper. 

I raised an eyebrow, though I knew he couldn't see. "Excuse me?"

"What caused the attack, I mean," came the response. 

I stared down at my thumb. The blood had dried and formed a scab around the slice. "I cut my thumb on the paper." 

"Oh." 

I leaned against the door. 

"Shit. I'm late for breakfast," he exclaimed. There was more shuffling of feet and another piece of paper flew under the door. 

I opened it carefully, making sure I didn't cut my fingers again. 

_I'll be back soon, after dinner, or something._

I either had a really concerned Cadet on my hands, a secret admirer, or both. 

Sure enough, he came back later that night and slipped a note under the door. He was later than I expected him to be, later than he had been yesterday, but I didn't complain, for the first time in my life (since I could remember, at least) I was happy to have someone to talk to who actually gave a shit about how I was feeling. It was a nice thing. 

_How was your day?_

I scribbled my response onto the paper almost haphazardly. 

_Long, boring, ultimately uneventful._

Which was true, I had spent most of my day catching up on sleep that had evaded me over the course of the past week. That in itself had proved a bit difficult, despite my exhaustion from the morning's ordeals. 

_Paperwork is boring. There's a strategy meeting tomorrow._

So I wasn't talking to a cadet, unless they were particularly special. 

_Sorry you had to live through that, I can't stand it either._

No one could, really. It was a wonder how Erwin managed to fill out forms and accept requests _all day_. It would have killed me, it really would have. There was a certain mindset necessary to complete any kind of paperwork, and it was something that most likely got easier with practice. I'd never taken the time to practice. 

I slid the paper back under the door and ran my fingers through my hair, cringing. _Yuck_. I hadn't bathed since I'd returned. That was _vile_. I made a mental note to shower later. 

_Are you feeling any better?_

To be honest, yeah, I was. Though I didn't really want to admit it, whoever was on the other side of the door had drastically improved my mental state, even if only slightly. To be honest, I don't normally open up to anyone. Yes, I had friends, but I seldom discussed the welfare of my mental health with them. Anonymity was most likely the key factor regarding my interest in even beginning to let the person on the other side of the door know what I was going through. It was the concept of mystery and the fact that I wouldn't be able to tell who had assisted me once I left the room that convinced me to even bother responding. 

_Yeah. Thank you, for this morning._

I blew the ink dry and slid the paper back. 

He took no time at all to respond, almost immediately the paper slid back underneath the door. 

_I'm glad you're feeling better, you had me worried. I'm really sorry about everything that happened._

Tears welled up in my eyes against my will, but before I could stop them, they began to fall rhythmically onto the parchment beneath me, causing the ink to smudge. I wiped them away, but they were quickly replaced with new ones. I clutched my forehead, though I'm not entirely sure what I was trying to relieve with the action. It's almost like when you walk into a room with the intention of finding a certain object, but once you've entered the room, you've completely forgotten what it was you were looking for in the first place. That's how I felt. 

"I'm sorry," I cried. 

"It's okay," came his reply, "You're gonna get through this. I know you can."

"I'm so sorry," I repeated.

"Don't think about it," he said, "Think about something else." 

I tried, I really did, but the silence began to press in from all sides, and it filled my mind with every image possible to conjure of her. The tears didn't stop, they just kept coming. 

"Talk to me." 

"What?" 

I couldn't grasp exactly what I was trying to accomplish by telling him: "Just talk to me, keep talking to me," all I knew was that if someone didn't keep the silence at bay, I would probably have another panic attack. 

"Can I tell you about my day?" 

"Yeah," I mused. Anything would suffice, in my state of mind. 

"Well, I woke up this morning, and I came to see you. After that, I went down to breakfast, and I had some soup," he laughed when he mentioned the soup, though I couldn't imagine why. Perhaps there was a story saved for a later date that involved the soup. 

"What kind of soup?" I asked, leaning against the door. 

He laughed. "Ginger. With cauliflower. Though, now that I think about it, a bit too bitter for my tastes. It could've used a bit more cauliflower and a tad less ginger, but it was food." 

"That sounds delicious," I hummed, licking my lips almost subconsciously. 

I remember falling into some kind of sleep to a one-sided debate on whether or not the military jackets would prove warm in the winter. I remember wanting to correct him that we were given _winter_ uniforms specifically for that reason, because the regular uniforms were nothing short of frostbite waiting to happen in sub-zero temperatures. However, I never got the chance to say anything, as my eyes slid closed against my will before I could do so. 

"Oh my god, did you sleep there?" 

Of all the voices I had encountered during my time as a soldier, I'd never encountered one as irritating (annoying wasn't the right word, no,) as Connie Springer's. I don't normally remember voices, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. But the voice on the other side of the door unmistakably belonged to Connie Springer, that much I was sure of. His voice had that grating edge to it that I simply couldn't stand. 

The fact that I had woken up to his voice in particular gave my morning an awful start, but another fact lifted my spirits a bit.

Whoever was on the other side of the door had fallen asleep there, which implied that they kind of cared about me. It was a strange feeling, knowing for certain that someone was ultimately concerned for my mental well being. It felt nice, though I was almost positive that there were people who cared for me already, I was just too thick to get it through my head, or too stubborn. Perhaps both. 

There was a crinkle of paper and the telltale scratch of the pen at its surface. 

"What are you doing, we're going to be late for breakfast, again," Connie groaned. _God, shut up,_ I thought, _You and Braus eat more than the entire Corps combined._ "Who's room is this?" 

Before he could speak again, however, the paper slid underneath the door, just as I had anticipated, there was a shuffling of feet, and they were gone, just like that. 

_Good morning, Captain._

There was another smiling face next to this good-morning message. I suddenly found myself craving some kind of human interaction, which, mind you, wasn't something I often wanted anything to do with. 

The frigid bite of sink water wasn't one I wanted to be feeling at seven in the morning, to say the least. It wasn't one I was ever in the mood to feel, to be honest. I hated the cold, and that was that. I always thanked the gods for winter uniforms, though the pants were a bit thinner than I would've liked. A bit of cold water was nothing compared to fighting titans in the icy wind of December, however. I'd take freezing sink water over titans to begin with on any given day. 

I washed my hair in something short of a hurry. I'm not going to say the cold shower didn't bother me, because it did. The ice-cold water helped me awaken, if you will. I felt like I had entered a state of hibernation over the past few days, which, to be honest, I had, but my mind was still groggy and hazy from both the lack of sleep and peaceful mindset. Combined with deprivation of food, the past three days had probably done _wonders_ for my health. 

I was fairly surprised at my ability to differentiate my shirt from my pants, all things considered. My hands shook a bit more than I was used to as I pulled the loose-fitting garment over my head, and I didn't even attempt to put on my pants while standing up, I wasn't even close to being confident enough to test my balance yet. I sat down on the edge of my bed and pulled the uniform pants over my ankles. My boots soon followed. Not the military ones, _gods no_ , those killed my heels and were a complete bitch to walk in. I slipped on my black leather boots, the ones with the little buckles on the side and that laced up the front. I rarely got the chance to wear them, nowadays, so I figured a casual breakfast would be the perfect opportunity to wear them, since they were the only other pair of shoes I owned. (Quite a variety, I know.) 

Hanji greeted me warmly upon my arrival to the kitchen. Her presence was beginning to become something of a relaxation mechanism. In the past I had seen her as nothing more than an ignorant and dull-minded woman who was dedicated to research I wasn't certain existed. She'd soon proven my judgmental theories wrong, however, that much didn't need explaining, and we soon formed a friendship of sorts. We never truly got along, but I would tell her tiny tidbits of information about my day, and she'd give me advice when she saw fit. (She was shockingly good at that.)

"Are you feeling better?" Her voice was as chirpy as ever. 

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm out of my room, aren't I?" 

She laughed and readjusted her glasses which were dangerously close to falling off of the bridge of her nose. I wondered when the last time she had gotten new glasses was. She probably hadn't gotten a new pair in something akin to years, and I began to compare the frequency at which she bathed with the frequency at which she purchased new eyewear. 

"I'll get you some tea," she smiled, "Probably some bread, too. You look starved." 

"I haven't eaten in three days, shitty glasses," I groaned, steadying myself on the nearest chair. 

"Sit down, before you fall down, Levi," she snapped, pointing to the chair. I obeyed, plopping down on the chair harder than was probably good for me. Before I could tell her what kind of tea I wanted, she was already on her way to the kitchen, and I found it no longer appropriate to call her back to where I was solely for the purpose of telling her what kind of tea to make.

I crossed my arms in front of me, rested my chin on my arm, and stared ahead at the painting on the wall. I didn't know why we kept _that one_ in the dining room, of all places. The artist had depicted some kind of gory sacrificial ceremony on it. When I had asked about it, Hanji had told me it had something to do with life before the walls. I didn't meddle any further, that was enough information for me to be satisfied with, the only thing I was really interested in was the story behind its choice of location.

I had been so immersed in the painting and my previous conversation with Hanji that I didn't notice that there were actually other people around me. Eren sat directly to my left, and Mikasa was next to him. Armin sat directly across from Eren, an open book laid out in front of him. Springer and Braus were at the other end of the massive table, no doubt shoving their faces full of whatever extra rations were available for the day. Mikasa, like Armin, was deeply immersed in a book, which I deemed strange. I'd never seen her read before at all, but I wasn't about to judge. 

Eren was scribbling fiercely in a notebook. It almost looked like he was drawing—but no, he was writing. 

For a split second I thought I recognized the paper from somewhere. 

I assumed it was my sleep-deprived mind playing tricks on me, again.


	2. Tenacity

The bowl Hanji set down in front of me sounded a bit louder than I had anticipated it to. When I jumped, Hanji laughed at me. 

"Jumpy?" 

I let out a nervous chuckle of "Yeah," and left it at that. I was still staring at Eren's notebook, and whatever he was scribbling so furiously at. 

"Well, eat up," she said, placing a spoon next to the bowl of soup in front of me, "it'll get cold." 

"Is soup the new thing?" I muttered to myself, spinning the spoon between my fingertips. The contents of the bowl in front of me seemed to be a medley of various vegetables, most of which I could name. That was reassuring, to some degree. 

Eren stopped writing in the notebook and looked up at me. "It's easier to make, apparently." 

"Is it? I figured bread would be easier to come by," I muttered. 

Eren nodded. "That's what Hanji said, yeah." 

"Hm." 

I took a spoonful of the soup. It wasn't hot, but I wouldn't call it warm, either. It was somewhere between scalding and pleasantly hot that set just right with my tastes. It wasn't overly salty, either, which pleased me to no end. (I can't stand salty soup.) I suppose I can't be too descriptive about soup, I mean, it's _soup_ , but I guess I know when to appreciate a decent recipe.

"Eren, what are you doing? You've been writing in that thing all morning," Mikasa didn't seem entirely content when Eren resumed scribbling away in the notebook. 

"It's for a friend," he said, plainly. She didn't pry further. 

My mind often reminds me of things I'd rather not remember, especially at times I deem exceptionally inappropriate for deep personal thought. The soup somehow reminded me of the coffee she used to make for me, though I'm not entirely sure how. Breathing suddenly became something of a challenge. I dropped my spoon. 

Eren's gaze shifted abruptly upward. His eyes locked with mine. Neither one of us spoke as he handed me a piece of paper from his notebook under the table. The paper only had one word to offer. 

_Breathe._

I nodded, and set about regulating my breathing, clutching the paper tightly in my left fist. I was almost afraid to drop it. It felt like some kind of evidence that someone, (even if it _was_ just Eren,) cared about me. 

This was all new to me. I'd never truly _grieved_ over anyone before, at least not like _this_. I was familiar with the distasteful pang of anxiety in my chest, or the sinking feeling in my stomach whenever a comrade or friend was lost, and it's not one I'm particularly fond of. It _hurts_ , more than any physical wound ever could. 

Love makes you do stupid things. Of all the emotions to feel during my life, I'd hoped to never experience the pain of heartbreak. It'd obviously occurred to me that by giving my heart to another, I'd also been expected to return every emotion possible, and express my emotions freely. I'd always had trouble expressing my feelings and coming to terms with the fact that I felt a certain way. 

Petra had changed that, somehow. She had been so easy to talk to, she'd been so attentive and accepting, in a way that I'd never encountered in a person before. Her unusual attitude toward everyone around her had intrigued me enough to produce feelings of affection, which had soon developed into something much, much more than I had originally anticipated. Before I realized it, I had begun to think of her as something more than merely a subordinate. Though I hated to admit it, I was in love with a dead woman. 

Without realizing it, I had dozed off on the table, and I woke to someone poking my shoulder. 

"Captain?" 

Everyone else was gone, as far as I could see. Only Eren remained. "You got left behind?" 

"I stayed behind, there's a difference," he snapped. 

I frowned. "Well, you didn't have to." The statement came out perhaps a bit harsher than I had intended, but I was too stubborn to take it back. 

He stood up, suddenly. The squeak of wood on stone startled me, and I almost jumped. "Fine," he muttered. The wooden doors of the dining room clattered shut behind him. There was no note after breakfast, and I had an idea as to why. 

After breakfast, I went back up to my room, paper in hand. As I suspected, the scrap from Eren's notebook and every paper I'd received under the door were identical in color and size. Either Eren was sending me notes, or someone had gotten their hands on his notebook and used its pages to convey messages to me. I was opting to believe the former, not only because it made more sense that Eren would use his own notebook to write me notes, but that Eren was a caring person to begin with. 

You'd never guess it, from the way he always acted, but from what I'd heard, everything he did was not without reason. It wasn't a bad way to be, at least he had strong will, but Eren wasn't exceptionally skilled at anything in particular. He was exceptionally stubborn, however, if that counted for anything. It probably didn't. 

—

_EREN_

I was tempted to fall asleep right then, I really was. Levi had been right about strategy meetings, they were hard to stay awake for. Sleeping on the cold stone floor of the hallway hadn't helped any, and neither had the rude awakening I had received from Connie. 

I never talked during these damn things, anyway, so why was I obliged to attend? It probably had something to do with the whole 'humanity's last hope' or something like that, which was complete and utter bullshit, I hadn't signed up to be anyone's hero. Then again, none of us had signed up to be put through the hell that had ensued only days ago. No one who enlisted in the corps ever asked to be put through the hell that most of us endured every day. The corps had in no way been founded for the faint of heart. 

At least Erwin had not been blind in his desire for recruits as to sugarcoat the horrible task every soldier in his branch faced. He had made the fact that our lives would no longer belong to us, should we follow through with enlisting, very clear. I respected him for his ability to face the facts head-on, instead of avoiding the truth in the way many people would have liked to. His words would have never prepared any of us for the sickening reality, however, and it was no surprise that most of the 104th still found themselves recovering from the aftershock of the 57th expedition beyond the walls. I wasn't excluded from that majority. Mikasa may have been, though she made no telltale indication of it. She'd never been one for emotions, anyway. 

No one spoke as we were dismissed. To be honest, I hadn't picked up much during that meeting. It wasn't out of the ordinary, but I usually remembered _something_. That day, my mind was simply blank. Things had been a lot different since we'd returned, which wasn't unexpected, it wasn't guaranteed that everyone who left would return, in fact, it was almost an unspoken rule that many who left the walls would not return. Safety was a difficult standard to upkeep. 

"Eren?" Mikasa tapped my shoulder. "Can I talk to you?" 

I nodded, quickly turning into the hallway that led to the infirmary. "Yeah?" 

"What do you keep in that notebook?" Her voice held an unwavering, somber tone that I wasn't used to. 

I hesitated to tell her, and used the moment when I opened the infirmary door as an excuse to hinder my response. 

Armin glanced up from whatever book he was reading, and a soft smile washed over his face. He'd fallen from his horse during the expedition, and he'd gotten something the doctors called a 'concussion'. Bruising of the brain, apparently. They'd told us it could've been much, much, worse, in fact they seemed almost surprised that the situation wasn't severe.

Mikasa sat down on the edge of the cot, and I did the same. 

"How did the meeting go?" He asked, placing a piece of red ribbon in between the pages of the book. "They told me I wasn't well enough to attend, I'm upset I missed it." 

I shrugged. "I got nothing. I wasn't paying attention, to be honest." 

"Humanity's last hope, everyone," Armin laughed, setting the book down next to his cot. 

"Sometimes I wonder why you even bother going to the meetings," Mikasa smiled, and it was the first time I'd seen her smile since we'd gotten back. It was subtle, but it was there, none the less. 

"I _told_ you, they _make_ me go," I said, sitting down on the floor next to the cot, "If I didn't have to go, I wouldn't." 

"Whatever you say." Armin rolled his eyes.

"Eren, who are you writing to?" I glanced over at Mikasa, who had somehow grabbed my notebook without me noticing. "What are all of these?" She turned over a scrap of paper in her hand, carefully inspecting its contents. 

Armin held out his hand. "Here, let me see." 

"Here, you're good at handwriting, who's handwriting is this?" Mikasa handed Armin the slip of paper. 

Armin glanced over the paper and turned it over a few times. He shook his head and handed the paper back to Mikasa. "I've never seen this handwriting before." 

Mikasa returned the paper to the notebook and glanced up at me. "Well?" 

I scoffed. "Well? Well, what?" I knew exactly what she meant, but I certainly wasn't about to tell her whom the messages in my notebook were for. I had saved some of the conversations we'd had, solely for the purpose of going over them later, and I didn't know what more I was trying to accomplish by saving them. 

"Who is it?" Armin leaned forward in anticipation. 

Mikasa dropped the notebook. "It's Levi," she breathed, eyes wide. She must've seen the word 'captain', somewhere. 

Armin raised an eyebrow. "Wait, seriously?" 

I nodded. "He's upset." 

"He lost his entire squad, Eren," Mikasa said, "of course he's upset." 

"I've just been trying to help, I suppose." 

Mikasa nodded. I was glad she understood, to at least some degree. "If that's what you want to do, then go ahead." 

I smiled. "Thanks." 

I left Mikasa and Armin to their own conversation shortly afterward. They had begun to discuss whatever had transpired at the strategy meeting, and I had gotten bored within a short time. 

I stopped outside of Levi's door and gazed down at the rusted brass handle. Without thinking, I knocked on the door, perhaps a bit harder than I had intended, but by the time my knuckles collided with the wood, it was too late to take the action back. There was a shuffling of feet and the unmistakable something shattering.

"Shit. It's unlocked." 

Levi looked surprised to see me, to say the least. He must've been expecting someone different, because he raised an eyebrow upon my arrival. I shut the door behind me, and without hesitation, I crossed the room to help him pick up the shattered teacup on the floor. 

"What do you want?" His tone was harsh and unforgiving, and something told me he didn't really want to know. 

"I just wanted to make sure you're alright." It wasn't entirely a lie, but it wasn't the sole reason I'd come to his office. I hoped to somehow tell him that I had been the one sending him the notes, but I hadn't the slightest idea how to bring up the subject. I'd been frequently reminded of my inept conversation abilities by whomever it concerned at the time, and this was no exception, I expected him to tell me to leave, but no such order came. Levi simply stared at me with a look of utter disbelief on his face. "Sir?" 

He shook his head and continued picking up the shards of the teacup. "You're here about the notes, correct?" 

Have you ever missed a step while going down the stairs? That's how I felt. That rush of adrenaline found its way into my chest, and I froze. I couldn't find the energy to nod or shake my head, so I just sat there like some kind of idiot, and I could only begin to imagine how stupid I looked. 

I didn't have time to register that he had walked over to his desk before he was holding out the scraps of paper in front of me. "These. This is your handwriting, no?" 

I nodded, almost instinctively. "Yes, sir." My hands shook as I took the paper from his hands. If I wasn't so worked up, I would've been tempted to think that his hands were shaking, too. I couldn't get a closer look, he sat back down in his chair before I could do so. 

"I appreciate your concern," he mumbled, and he almost looked disinterested with the conversation. 

I couldn't suppress a faint "Oh." 

It was funny how a simple confession had changed the weight of the conversation entirely. The air in the room became lighter, and it was somewhat easier to speak. It was easier to speak knowing that I hadn't been sending notes to someone who didn't want to receive them at all. 

"How have you been?" He asked. "I mean, since we got back, you've been alright?" This entire conversation was ridiculously unlike him, everything about this _situation_ was unlike him, from the notes to the way he'd let me into his room and openly admitted that the notes I'd sent him hadn't been an annoyance in the slightest. I knew that the death of his squad had impacted him greatly, but I hadn't known it had impacted him so much as to change the extent to which he displayed emotion. Levi was known for being blunt, crude, and keeping to himself, and everything about this situation contradicted that. 

I nodded and sat down onto the chair in front of his desk. "I've been fine, yeah." It wasn't completely a lie, yet it wasn't the truth; I'd been in a somewhat gloomy and bleak state of mind for the past four days that I simply couldn't get out of, no matter how hard I tried. 

He didn't respond entirely; he simply responded with a "Hm," which implied both that he'd heard me, and that he had nothing more to say on the subject. His eyes never left me, but he didn't make direct eye contact. He hadn't seemed like one to make eye contact, anyway. 

My eyes drifted to the surface of his desk, where his fingers tapped gently on the papers beneath them. I didn't know whether the action was caused by nerves or something else; I couldn't think of anything other than nervousness that would cause someone to tap their fingers on a surface in such a shaky and precarious manner. "Has anything happened?" 

"No," was the only answer I got, and the only one I expected. 

I left later that night, and the only other exchanging of words had been a mere "goodnight," and "goodbye." 

It was past 23:00 by the time I got back to my room. From the look of it, Mikasa had helped Armin back to our room, because he was out like a light, on _my_ bed, no less. I wasn't sure if he was supposed to be sleeping at all, I remembered that Hanji had mentioned something about sleep and hitting your head, but I couldn't recall the details. I didn't want to wake him up, so I simply threw on a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt and climbed into the top bunk. 

I hadn't wanted the top bunk for a particular reason; there was a window on the wall that was directly in front of the foot of the bed. The window provided a breathtaking view of the land beyond Headquarters, but one of the panes was missing, and when the wind blew, drafts came in through the window. Armin had picked up on my hesitation to sleep there almost immediately, and he had happily volunteered to let me take the bottom bunk without question. He was passive, like that. 

Sleep didn't come easily. I tossed and turned, the warm August wind lapped at my feet, and the soft chatter of those in the hallway that hadn't yet retired to their rooms for the night filled my ears.

—

_LEVI_

The next two days passed smoothly. Eren visited me before breakfast and after dinner every day, always at the same time, never a minute late, or a moment early. We'd gotten into this routine of sorts, I suppose. It wasn't something I was going to complain about, and even Hanji noticed the improvement in my mood, despite the fact that I never voiced my state of emotions. Everything seemed to be going well. 

Mind you, I still missed her. Not a second went by that I didn't think about her warm smile, or crave her gentle caress, but I never broke down. For two days, I was void of all discomposure. I was in control, if only for a meager 48 hours. It'd been a week since we'd returned, but it felt like only yesterday. 

Erwin had told her parents only two days ago, and from what I'd heard, they hadn't taken the news well. No one would. It's not something often expected of a parent; you don't simply exclaim 'don't expect your child to come back alive from this mission,' it's downright cruel. It's often self-explanatory, that if your child enlists in the military, the threat of death is always there. It never truly leaves. Even within the walls, there are people who want you dead. No one takes kindly to any of the military branches, everyone thinks they're a waste of precious tax dollars that otherwise wouldn't go anywhere else. 

Eren visited me that morning. We exchanged a few words, nothing of any importance, he simply asked me how I had slept and things of the like, how I was feeling, if I needed anything. He seemed to be in a rush, so I told him to run along and get to breakfast or whatever else he was in a hurry for. The day was looking up. Today promised something more than any of the seven so far—something I hadn't had thus far. Hope. Unfortunately, it didn't last. 

The rain had been on and off all day, it had never stopped entirely; the soft pitter-patter of the raindrops on my window woke me from the sound sleep I'd somehow found, even amidst the chaos that had broken out in my mind of late. 

My desk was a mess—I hadn't cleaned it in a while, at least not since before we'd left. Papers were scattered about in every direction, half of them I didn't recognize, and the other half comprised primarily of forms I had put off filling out, or notices that I'd never paid any mind to. Erwin had always found it hilarious how good I was at putting off paperwork and getting away with it; he took to calling me 'humanity's strongest procrastinator' for quite a while. I'd shed the nickname shortly after I actually realized if I wanted to go anywhere in the Corps, I'd _have_ to work eventually. 

I was grateful I knew how to read, at least. Some trainees came to the corps with little or no education as far as literacy went, and it was nothing short of a nightmare for them to not only take on the challenge of becoming literate, but also the mental hardships and psychological trauma everyone faces when they first enlist. It's inevitable, even I felt some kind of terror, faint as it may have been, it was there, tucked away safely behind that cocky façade that everyone frequently associated me with. It wasn't physically crippling terror, like the kind that you wake from a nightmare and suddenly find yourself saddled with; it was the faint pang of anxiety in the center of your chest, the kind that's not directly in your heart, but it's close enough to be painful. I'd ignored it at first, and thankfully the feeling became fainter with each mission outside of the walls. It'd surely return the next time we decided to go beyond the walls again, but I didn't really want to think about it at the time. I set about filling out the 'deceased' forms for each of my squad members, starting with Erd.

 _Erd Gin. 46 titan kills, 36 team, 14 solo._ He'd been incredible with the maneuver gear. I'd chosen him specifically for this reason; his ability to work sufficiently in a team was exemplary, as well. _Gunter Schultz. 47 titan kills, 40 team, 7 solo._ He'd been an incredible strategist, which made up for his lower ranks in his graduating class, but with extra training he'd soon proven himself to be stronger than I'd previously anticipated. _Auruo Bossard. 48 kills. 39 solo, 9 team._ An expert in both hand-to-hand combat and combining the use of the swords and maneuver gear, I'd requested he be transferred to my squad immediately after he graduated from training. His tendency to boast about his ridiculously high statistics (no higher than mine, of course,) lost him a bit of respect from both his fellow squad members and I, but he was one of us, none the less. 

My hands shook as I wrote the last name onto the last sheet of paper in front of me. _Petra Ral. 58 titan kills. 48 team. 10 solo._ She'd stood out. If she hadn't, I wouldn't have noticed her. Her soft orange hair had caught my eye, and at first, I hadn't been captivated by her beauty—I'd been captivated by the way she flew through the air with such ease, it was plain that every move she made had been laid out in her mind, every step and every landing was sure-footed and steady, and she never stumbled, and she never fell. It had only been after the 46th expedition beyond the walls that I'd come to terms with how I felt. By the time I'd confessed, Trost had been breached, and danger was knocking at our door once again. Now she was gone, and I'd never see her again. I'd never be able to hold her, I'd never be able to tell her how good she was. 

I pushed my chair away from the desk in time to avoid getting tears on the paper below me. I wiped them away, but they were quickly replaced with more. I reached for the desk drawer and pulled it open, careful not to pull it out all the way. The damn thing had been broken for a while now, and if I pulled the drawer out too much, the whole thing came out. 

The patches felt too heavy in my hand. They didn't feel metaphorically heavy; there was a tangible weight to them, as if they were made of metal. Perhaps I hadn't gotten enough sleep—perhaps I needed more rest. I didn't feel exhausted in the slightest, though. More than anything else, I wanted to scream. I wanted to shriek at the top of my lungs like no one would hear; I wanted to experience every ounce of suffering they'd endured because of me, because of what I'd told them to do. They'd obeyed, albeit blindly, because that's what they were trained for, that was the purpose for which they'd offered up their beating hearts, for the sake of mankind.

I can get emotional. Most people would never guess it, simply from being around me, or even by simply looking at me. I don't often get emotional, but when I do, it's usually over something very important to me. I hadn't had anyone like Petra since Isabel and Farlan, and those two had been taken from me in such a gruesome and unfashionable way that I didn't even want to compare their _relation_ to me to Petra's. I'd seen them as the siblings I'd never had, and nothing more. They'd been my everything, and Petra had slowly become the same, but in a slightly different way. 

"Fuck!" I cursed, throwing the patches down on what I assumed to be the desk. My steps were uncoordinated and unbalanced as I made my way over to the bed, collapsing onto the mattress and pulling a blanket about my shoulders. "Why aren't you here, I need you," I cried, and I did, at that point, I needed _someone, anyone_. 

There will come a point in your life, at least once, when it will be completely impossible for you to sustain your sanity by yourself. I'd only experienced such a situation once before, and it hadn't been a noteworthy ordeal, but now was different. My breathing became shallow and uneven, and my heart began to beat quicker than it ever had before. It felt as if the room was too hot and too cold, all at the same time, and I broke out into a cold sweat, even after casting the blanket aside. It seemed only fitting that I opened my eyes to find Eren standing over me, eyes wide with fear. 

"Captain—?" 

I didn't take into consideration the fact that he might have somewhere to be, that he might have plans, or that he could have someone waiting for him outside. I didn't hesitate. The words escaped my lips in a choked sob that I hoped didn't sound too low of me. "Stay here." 

There wasn't a 'please' attached, I hadn't begged. The command had been simple and to the point. However, despite how kind he was, I never expected Eren to simply nod as if I'd asked him a simple yes or no question. I never expected him to fetch the green flannel blanket from the foot of the bed and drape it over my shoulders once more, and I certainly hadn't expected him to cross his arms and rest his chin in them on the edge of my bed. 

Amidst the confusion, I still couldn't breathe properly, and I was still shaking, from terror or the inability to breathe, I couldn't tell. 

"Breathe," he said, as he'd said it many times before, but I hadn't yet gotten tired of the way his voice softened the intonation of the word. "Everything is gonna be okay, yeah?" I nodded, still attempting to quell the shivers that refused to leave. 

I couldn't see. It had gotten too dark, but just as I began to doze off, I could've sworn I felt his hand wrap around mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this thing where I like to keep Levi IC but simultaneously make him very emotional you feel me
> 
> I feel like under the right circumstances he'd be extremely emotional and I like capturing that side of him idk
> 
> If you think this story is hard on your emotions now it's going to get much worse I assure you  
> ——
> 
> Thank you to my lovely girlfriend, [Becca](http://nightvaleandotherweirdness.tumblr.com) for beta-ing this story! 
> 
> My tumblr is still [er-uri](http://er-uri.tumblr.com)


	3. Footfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most I've ever written about cookies in my life
> 
> Enjoy this fluffy chapter

To my surprise, Eren was still next to me when I woke up, but he was fast asleep. His hand firmly gripped the edge of the sheets. I'd expected him to leave, as if he had a specific reason to. I couldn't think of any possible reason he could possibly have. I was somehow convinced that he had prepared an excuse in advance, but he'd somehow fallen asleep before he could deliver it. If he was the person to voice such things, I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd recited my thoughts exactly, almost as if they were his own. 

However, he was sleeping, so he couldn't say anything at all, and for some reason that I couldn't place my finger on, that granted me some sense of relaxation, as if his unconsciousness prolonged the time I had before he'd tell me everything I'd undeniably been thinking.

His sleeping face became the subject for which I focused on for the remaining duration of his rest. He remained asleep until 0900 hours, which was impressive, considering he'd been accustomed to waking up at 0600 every morning since enlisting. Before he'd done so, during training, his wake-up time was likely earlier than that. Perhaps he hadn't slept well the previous night. 

Hanji had always told me I was too paranoid. She told me I worried to much, and when I asked what about, she had simply told me "everything." I did worry too much, even I realized it, but it wasn't something that I could control, really. Sometimes it was an involuntary action, others worried voluntarily, but despite whether I had control over my concern or not, I always made sure to keep consistent whatever emotion I'd been keeping up that day. More often than not, it was the same old expressionless, snappy mood I was always in. 

Eren looked more at peace than he ever had, which wasn't really a surprise, since he was sleeping, but his face held more calmness than I was used to, which likely exaggerated the extent of his relaxation. He'd always been defensive and slightly cocky, and I'd only seen him smile a chance few times. He had a certain air about him that caused him to come off as rather standoffish, and that had been exactly the adjective that came to mind when I heard the name 'Eren.' I heard it often enough, humanity's last hope this, and humanity's hope that. He'd become a popular conversation topic, and it wasn't unusual to encounter two strangers talking about him on the streets. 

He woke up slowly, and for some reason I made a mental note of the manner of his waking, as if I'd find some use for it later. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, and for a moment the entire situation struck me as painfully stereotypical, as if this was something that happened to people all of the time, or it was completely normal to wake up with your subordinate sitting on the floor adjacent to you, asleep. I suddenly felt a pang of anxiety, wondering if he'd be angry when he was awake enough to realize he'd slept on the floor. I realized I probably should've let him sleep on the bed, but I quickly brushed away the thought, as it threatened to alter the pale shade of my face to a slightly darker hue. 

I only managed a meager "Shit, I'm sorry," which certainly hadn't been enough to quell the guilt blooming in my chest. I'd never been one for apologies. 

Eren blinked a few times. "Hm," was all he said. His hair had flattened out on one side from being pressed against the bed all night, and I'll be damned, because I somehow found that cute. _Somehow._ "G'morning, Levi," he groaned. I hadn't planned on criticizing him on the lack of formality, but he'd realized his slip-up the moment my name escaped his lips, and he was immediately at his feet, saluting. "Captain. Sorry." 

Hanji had also told me I was very observant, but she hadn't said it was a bad thing. I failed to see how it could be. Eren was clearly still hazy from his awakening, and his feet wobbled on the ground slightly as he started toward the door. Mind you, I was still struggling to wake up completely as well, but Eren was far worse off than I was, so I wasn't surprised that I made it to catch him as he stumbled, inches from the floor. He hadn't even cried out, he was so tired, and he didn't even thank me when I set him upright, he simply smiled and nodded his head absentmindedly. 

I still don't know what compelled me to do what I did next, and I don't think I ever will. In a split second, I had wrapped my arms around his waist, and I'd rested my head against his chest, relishing the faint thud of his heart against his ribcage, almost sighing with relief that someone was there, and said someone was still alive. Happiness is weird, it takes the strangest things to trigger. The concept of heartbeat had suddenly grown foreign to me, as if it wasn't something I was surrounded by and was subject to every day. I supposed it was something that was there all of the time, like breath, and you I'd never set aside the time to notice it.

I expected him to pull away, but like everything I'd assumed before, it didn't happen. He didn't react, either, which didn't concern me, nor did it calm me. I simply held him close to me, mixed in a state of middle-ground emotions. 

When I finally let him go, he avoided my eyes. He didn't look hurt, and his face was easy enough to read, the blush spreading across his face and onto his ears was more than enough proof that he _definitely_ wasn't hurt. A better word for his current state of mind might've been 'embarrassed.' 

Immediately after I closed the door behind him, I ran to the bathroom and threw up. It was incredible how much tension had built up over the course of two minutes. The degree to which the nausea had affected me was more surprising, though. I'd felt uneasy all morning, but I hadn't realized that I even had anything left in my stomach to throw back up. The action was entirely fueled by anxiety, yes, but in theory, there shouldn't have been anything in my stomach at all. 

I decided not to further contemplate the efficiency of my digestive system and to instead take a rather lengthy (and cold) shower. I scrubbed furiously at my arms until they grew red with irritation and it hurt to scrub them any longer. I didn't pay attention to whether or not my hair squeaked when I ran my fingers through it. The shower served as an event to simply make me _feel_ clean, it didn't serve any cleaning purpose whatsoever. 

I'm pretty sure I spent a good ten minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, contemplating whether or not I should've hugged Eren. I somehow opted with the fact that it wasn't what he had wanted, and I convinced myself to apologize for the inconvenience, or whatever else he had seen it as. The main problem had been that I had no idea how to apologize, seeing that I'd never done it in the past very often. What was I supposed to do? Did I approach him? Did I casually bring it up in conversation? Hopefully it was easier in practice than theory, but I hadn't put theory into action in quite a while, so I wasn't entirely sure how anything was going to go. I finally settled on calling Eren to my office that night and apologizing then. 

At least putting on clothing was easier that day than it had been not too long ago. When I thought about it, a lot of things were easier. For the first time since I'd come back, I combed my hair. To my utter shock, it hadn't tangled as much as I'd expected it to. My hair was usually a pain in the ass to deal with, but it wasn't too bad, that day. At least some part of my life felt like going easy on me, even if it was only my hair. 

I reached for the handle of my door, but my hand fell short of the knob, and my gaze shifted to my feet. There was a note on the floor. 

There are some things you expect. There are some things you don't. Nothing could've prepared me for the words that stared at me from that scrap of paper, but they were absolute, they were there, and they were genuine. 

_Thank you._

—

_EREN_

My heart thudded faintly in my chest, and for a moment, I was afraid it was going to explode. I somehow convinced myself that wasn't possible and made my way down to the mess hall just in time for breakfast. 

_Levi hugged me. He hugged me_. I couldn't get the thought out of my head, and I could only begin to imagine the shade of red my face had gone, especially after he'd released me from his arms. I'd wanted to hug him back, but I'd been too shocked, and by the time I'd realized what was happening, he'd let go, and he'd apologized—gods, he'd apologized, he thought it was a goddamn mistake and I felt awful about that. I wished I'd told him that it was alright; I wished I'd had the courage to say something like; "Can I hug you again?" But I hadn't. 

I walked down to breakfast sporting an expression that I hoped did nothing to imply how I was feeling. 

"Good morning, Eren," Armin said, looking up from he book he was reading. It was an entirely different one from yesterday, and I couldn't help but wonder if he'd finished the one he was reading yesterday. He probably had, Armin was known for his avid reading habits. He read through books like there was no tomorrow, and he most likely knew more about any given subject than I would in my entire life. 

"Morning," I groaned, sitting down in the chair opposite him, "What time is it?" It was early enough for Armin to be awake, but certainly not early enough for breakfast to be served, and if it wasn't early, that meant that I'd slept through breakfast. 

"Nine hundred and seventeen. You slept through breakfast," his tone was unwavering, and he didn't look up from the pages of his book once. I recognized the book as one of the few of the library's copies of _On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection_ ; of which I was almost certain was restricted material. _You could be sent to prison for that, you idiot._

"How many times have you read that book? Doesn't it ever get old?" Gods, he'd read it at _least_ ten times by now, and I was beginning to think I was losing count. 

Armin shook his head and placed a thin piece of worn cloth in between the pages. "No, it never does," he said. "Every time, I learn something new. I focus on a different chapter every time." I didn't question anything he said; I didn't ask him how he found one book in particular so interesting after he'd read it time after time. He looked so happy explaining why he'd gone over it repeatedly, and it felt wrong to ask a question that might disturb that joy and passion he somehow found in that one particular book. _To each their own_ , I supposed. 

"What's it about?" I asked instead, propping my chin up on my hand. 

"Science, and stuff. Do you want to read it, when I'm done?" He raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't seem like your kind of book, but if you really want to read it…" 

"No, that's alright, science isn't really my thing," I laughed, waving my hand. 

Armin smiled and closed the book. "It never was, Eren." 

I sighed, then, perhaps a bit too harshly. Armin picked up on the change in atmosphere immediately. 

—

_ARMIN_

"What's wrong, Eren?" The question escaped my lips before I could stop it. I'd always been a bit nosy, but never to an extreme degree; if Eren were to say 'nothing,' I wouldn't have pried at all, even though he _was_ my best friend, and I was genuinely concerned, but I simply could never find it in myself to pry for information I wasn't sure was attainable or willing to be surrendered. 

Eren shook his head. "I had a rough morning, I suppose," he muttered, his tone a strange mix of grogginess and frustration, the origin of which I couldn't begin to imagine. 

"It's your day off! How are you having a rough morning?" I asked. There weren't a lot of things you could possibly do to ruin your one day off during a six-day week, other than the typical; 'I woke up on the wrong side of the bed,' or '39C fever.' There wasn't much else that could possibly ruin one's day off, when nothing much was expected of you save for your presence at breakfast and dinner. Sundays were a gift, as far as my thoughts were concerned. 

"Do you really want to know?" He sighed, and _everything_ about his current pose and tone implied that he didn't want to let me know why he was having a rough morning _at all_. Despite my current doubts, I simply nodded. 

"Well, you know how I've been sending letters to the Captain, right?" I nodded, again. I was suddenly worried that Levi had hurt Eren in some way, but when Eren continued speaking without hesitation, I knew that nothing had happened. Eren's tone was unwavering and steady, similar to the tone one would use when engaging in normal conversation. Nothing was amiss in his story, yet. "I slept in his room last night." 

Well, _that_ certainly wasn't what I'd been expecting. I'd been expecting what any normal person would've assumed, not that he'd gone and slept with his superior. To be perfectly honest, the thought had _never_ crossed my mind. Eren had never seemed like the romantic type, or perhaps this wasn't romantic, at all? It was entirely possible, not many soldiers had the time to become involved with someone else, and even fewer were willing to take the risk of losing their significant other in the field. It wasn't even considered missing out on an opportunity anymore, it was simply considered common sense to not get romantically involved with someone. 

I must've made a face, because Eren's eyes widened in something akin to shock. He shook his head frantically and waved his hands. "It's not like that, I swear!" 

I sighed, "Oh, you made it sound like—"

"Gods, _Armin_ , no! I've been sending him these notes, and he was really upset, so I sat next to him and waited for him to fall asleep, but I ended up sleeping, too. On the floor." At least his explanation made sense, and I was more willing to accept the fact that he'd slept on the floor as a friend than in the bed as a lover. Not that I wouldn't have accepted him if he had, indeed, had sex with Levi, I was just more at ease knowing that he hadn't yet gotten to that point, if that's what he was going for. 

"Do you like him?" I asked, and hopefully the tone I'd used could apply both to the possibility that Eren simply viewed Levi as a friend or that he wanted something more from his superior. 

"Yeah, I do," Eren sighed, scratching the back of his neck, then paused. "Well, how do you mean?" 

"What do _you_ mean?" I countered, and I'm almost positive that was the most demanding I'd ever been in my life, save for a few moments in Trost. 

"He hugged me," Eren murmured. For a moment I was almost positive I'd heard him incorrectly, but the way his cheeks flushed was confirmation enough. "He hugged me, and he thought it was a mistake, Armin. I feel awful." 

I shook my head. "Don't feel bad, Eren. Just go talk to him." 

—

_EREN_

I ended up telling Armin more than I probably should've, and by the end of our conversation, I would've been surprised if he hadn't picked up on the fact that I thought of Levi as much more than a friend. I had, for a while, even before the 57th expedition, I just hadn't fully come to terms with my feelings until then. It was almost painful to realize, especially now that I had a feeling why Levi had been so upset lately. The truth had hit me like a ton of bricks, and I remember feeling like a complete idiot for not realizing it sooner. 

_Levi had been in love with Petra._

It'd been plain to see; it was plainer so when I thought about it. They'd been inseparable, and you'd never see one without the other. 

Guilt is a strange feeling. It's uncomfortable, yet there's a certain pleasure I find in a certain kind of guilt. This wasn't that kind of guilt. This guilt twisted and wracked my gut like a cramp that wouldn't go away. It made me sick to my stomach, and robbed me of any appetite that I could've possibly had. I was suddenly grateful I'd missed breakfast. 

I spent the following few hours thinking of possible ways that I could cheer Levi up, or at least do something to distract him from the fact that his lover was dead, which proved to be a nearly unachievable feat in its own. 

I thought of the limited time I'd spent with his squad; every moment had been precious time I hadn't realized was ticking away. They'd been the best of the best, and I had failed to see that no one was exempt from the terror of the titans no matter what their military ranking or skill. 

I settled for potentially the most cliché gift ever: cookies. I remembered Petra saying something about gingerbread being Levi's favorite kind of cookie. 

Herein I faced yet another problem; I hadn't the slightest clue how to bake, but I did, however, know someone who could. 

Sasha Braus.

And that's how I ended up in front of the dorm she shared with Mikasa, somehow lacking the courage to knock on the door, as well as the will to walk away from my current predicament. At some point, I decided 'oh, fuck it,' and knocked on the door, despite how much I didn't want to. 

Sasha opened the door after the third knock, and for a moment I was afraid I'd woken her from some kind of deep sleep. 

"Eren?" She muttered, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. "What time is it?" 

I shook my head. "I honestly have no idea, but can I ask you a favor?" 

"Yeah," She said. "Yeah, what is it?" 

I shrugged. "Can you help me bake cookies?" 

Sasha's face lit up immediately. "Cookies? What kind?" I suddenly found myself wondering why I'd gone to her instead of someone else. Judging from the look in her eyes and the way she'd said the word _cookie_ gave me the impression that there would barely be any cookies left for Levi. 

"Gingerbread," I smiled. I supposed I'd have to make enough for all three of us. (That is, if I could do it correctly.)

"Gimme like—five seconds," She said, closing the door. 

I nodded, despite the fact that she couldn't see me anymore, and sat down. She kept her word. She was indeed, back in five seconds, though I failed to see how she had changed from her uniform pants and shirt to a skirt in such a short time. I simply regarded it as yet another one of the wonders of the opposite gender. 

"Where are we gonna bake these?" I asked, and I felt like I should know, because I was the one who had come to her asking to bake cookies in the first place. 

"Umm—we could bake them in the kitchen? Isn't that self explanatory?" She had an expression on her face that could only be read as 'duh,' so I nodded, feeling like an idiot for even questioning the location in the first place. Sasha closed the door gently behind her and we started down the hall./p>

"You do realize we're going to have to steal from Saffron," Sasha sighed, and I cringed. The one chef in headquarters was strict and ridiculously intimidating. Everything she made was delicious, but her temper was short and she didn't take kindly to criticism. I wasn't too keen on the idea of stealing ingredients from her. I supposed it would be worse if we got caught. "It's alright, I've done it before, it's just a pain." 

I shook my head, hoping she wasn't _too_ reluctant to help me out. I'd made a rather unhealthy habit of thinking I'd forced people into doing things they either weren't comfortable with or had no interest in doing at all, and I found myself being frequently reminded of this habit by Mikasa. "You're too hard on yourself," she'd say, in a tone that was nearly impossible to disagree with. I supposed it was a bit rash to make such assumptions early on. 

"Do you want to frost them?" She asked, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. 

"Isn't sugar rationed?" I raised an eyebrow. I knew we'd have to use enough sugar for the cookies themselves, as it were. Besides, if we used too much, saffron would certainly notice. 

Sasha nodded. "We won't use much, I promise." 

"If you say so," I said, doubtfully. 

Saffron was long gone by the time we got to the kitchen, she'd left to see family earlier today, and breakfast had consisted of leftovers from last night's dinner. Sasha and I made quick work of cleaning up the stray dishes and pans, washing each and every implement with the utmost care and precaution. I lit every oil lamp in the kitchen, and started a fire in the stove. By the time we had finished cleaning the place up, a cozy air had set about in the room, and the grey tones diminished almost entirely, save for a few corners. 

Sasha walked back into the kitchen with a basket full of ingredients, but I'd never noticed that she'd left. She set down the basket on the counter. "Ready?" 

We set to work; Sasha sliced the ginger and I somehow managed to measure the correct ratio of flour to sugar using the wooden cups Sasha had told me to use. She'd tried to explain the fractions to me, but to no avail. "It's easy," she said, but after a thorough explanation yielded no knowledge on my part, she decided to just tell me to use a certain number of a certain size cup. I'd only been taught basic math, and that was _before_ the world had gone to shit. Education had long since passed from my mind since then. If given the opportunity, I supposed I'd give it the time, but such things weren't meant to be, apparently. 

The ginger stung my hands, but I somehow convinced myself it'd be worth it in he end. It was a wonder how something so vile and bitter could turn into something as appealing as gingerbread. 

After some time, Sasha spoke up. "Why gingerbread?" She asked, continuing to whisk together the sugar and the eggs. "I mean, it's a strange choice. Usually it's a Christmas thing." 

I shrugged. "I was told gingerbread is his favorite." Sasha didn't question the pronoun at all, nor did she ask me to whom I was referring; she simply redirected her attention to the eggs and sugar. I could've sworn I saw a smile ghost over her lips, but I didn't dare ask. 

Sasha did not, in fact, eat _all_ of the cookies. There were a good deal of them left for both Levi and I, give or take a few. The cookies had just the right amount of spice, which balanced out perfectly with the amount of sugar, and I was grateful I'd had the sense to ask Sasha for help. I wrapped up the remaining cookies and headed back to my room. 

I was covered in flour, and I wasn't too keen on showing up to Levi's quarters looking like I'd just spent the entire day baking. (Which, essentially, I _had_.) I hoped that a change of clothing would quell the almost painful anxiety that had suddenly arisen in my chest. I pulled on an old shirt, the cleanliness of which I was a bit skeptical. I didn't stop to worry whether or not Levi would notice or not, and by the time I was out the door, I didn't really want to think about it anymore. 

Levi's door had never seemed so intimidating. Things are often blown out of proportions when you're staring at something while under the influence of one emotion in particular. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, and the plate of cookies felt unnaturally heavy in my hands, which had somehow begun to shake. I knocked on the door twice—it'd become the way Levi knew it was me at the door, instead of someone else. 

For once, no reply came. Instead, there was a shuffling of feet and the door suddenly opened. 

"Hello," I sputtered, not entirely in possession of my bearings anymore. 

Levi stared down at the plate of cookies in my hands and for a moment, a hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hell yeah cliffhangers kinda
> 
> This chapter was fun to write
> 
> This is probably the happiest chapter that's ever going to exist regarding this fic I am sorry
> 
> —
> 
> Thank you to my lovely girlfriend, [Becca](http://nightvaleandotherweirdness.tumblr.com) for beta-ing this story! 
> 
> My tumblr is still [er-uri](http://er-uri.tumblr.com)


	4. Victim

I'd lost track of the days by then, and it'd lost the significance it had held during the first week; each new day was another I'd survived. I couldn't yet say I felt happy with my current emotional state, yet I wasn't displeased with it. It's almost like when it's warm out, you can't say you like the sun, but you can't exactly complain either. 

I'd made a lot of shitty decisions in my time, and I've never been remotely sure about anything, ever. Yet another unbearable, virtually unbreakable habit of mine, the amount of which was increasing faster than I could keep track of. 

I had to lock the door at night. I couldn't sleep without it locked. I tightened my gear to the point where it bruised and blistered and made showering something of a nightmare. I didn't want it to fall off; I didn't want it to malfunction. I found myself pining over meticulous details, the majority of which would otherwise pass over people's heads. 

I went to see Hanji that morning, and I'd had a subtle confidence in my step that there'd never been before. Out of all of my 'friends' in the corps, I was the closest to Hanji, but you'd never guess it from the way I acted around her. We had the kind of relationship where we'd only be serious if completely necessary. Such situations were scarce. 

Hanji wasn't in her office when I let myself in. The place was surprisingly neat and tidy, which was an incredible feat in its own, especially for someone like Hanji. I fed her rabbits, Daffodil and Bean, I knew she hadn't yet fed them, she never did. Her rabbits had never been top priority, though I couldn't see why, they were the cutest animals I'd ever laid eyes on. I had a soft spot for animals, probably because they couldn't give me as much trouble as humans ever could. The emotions of animals weren't fragile and easily wavered. They didn't mind if I was in a shitty mood or not. I ended up taking Bean out of the cage and holding him in my arms. His soft fur ran through my rough fingers like silk. 

I sat down on the sofa by the fireplace and sighed, realizing that I didn't even know what day it was. I think it was Sunday, which meant that everyone had the day off. I couldn't imagine someplace Hanji would've been required to be on Sunday morning, but she was one of those people who simply had something to do no matter what time of day it was. It was a bit annoying, really.

Ten minutes or so later, Hanji suddenly burst through the door, carrying an assortment of rolled up papers and documents, none of which looked like they would serve any purpose whatsoever. She set the stack down on her desk, paying no mind to me whatsoever. I set bean down on the floor, who immediately bounded over to where Hanji stood by the desk. 

"Bean!" Hanji reached down and scooped the rabbit into her arms, scratching his head. "How did you manage to get out?" Her eyes darted around the room and eventually fell on me. I waved, flashing her a faint smile. 

"Did you let him out?" She asked, as if it was even possible for either of the rabbits to escape without assistance. As far as I was aware, they hadn't been fed steroids or anything. 

"Yes, unless Bean magically grew wings," I groaned. I was beginning to regret visiting Hanji at all, but I reminded myself that Bean and Daffodil wouldn't have gotten fed if I hadn't decided to show up. 

"Thanks for feeding them, I forget to do that sometimes." Hanji had never forgotten about things very often in the past. Ever since the 57th expedition, she'd been just as cheery, but there was something horribly _off_ about her. I couldn't explain it; her whole personality seemed teetering on the edge of inevitable collapse, and it was almost as if she was trying too hard to prevent herself from falling into the depression that had already consumed so many others in the corps. She'd found solace in both her work and spending time with her overanxious assistant Moblit, whom I was tempted to say saw her as much more than simply a superior officer. 

Without thinking, much less considering the possibility that I would never have the time or motivation to provide care for any kind of animal, I suddenly blurted out something like; "I can take them, if you like." I was still on medical leave, Erwin had given me a month, I must've not looked very promising for the first few days upon our return to HQ. 

Hanji's face lit up like I'd just flicked a switch. "Could you really? They've been a bit depressed lately, I can tell they would like some extra attention, that's great!" 

And that's how I found myself on the way back to my office with a cage of two rabbits in my arms. I'd originally gone to see Hanji to ask her about recent events and whatever the hell Erwin had gotten caught up in, but I simply ended up walking away with two rabbits instead of information. I supposed they'd be fine company while Eren was away. 

I didn't want to think about Eren, at the moment. I was growing closer to him than I was willing to admit, and he was beginning to pull me away from the harsh reality of everything that had happened recently, whether he was trying to or not. There was a piece of me that clung tightly to that reality, and it didn't want to let go. Another part of me wasn't ready to let it go. 

I could barely remember what she had looked like anymore. The only image I'd been able to clearly remember depicted her mangled corpse against the tree. I almost dropped the rabbit cage on the floor once I got back to my office. I made it to my windowsill and set down the cage, breaking into a run for my room. 

—

After thoroughly ridding myself of whatever breakfast I'd eaten that morning, I collapsed on my bed. It was almost uncanny how little energy I'd been able to maintain since our return. I fell into a troubled sleep, from which I was awoken by a knock. Two knocks. _Eren._ I struggled to get up on my feet. My movements and motions were uncoordinated and weary, even through I'd just taken a nap. Everything around me was blurry, and I swayed in and out of not knowing where I was. Once my room had stopped spinning around me, I made my way through the office and to the door. 

Sure enough, there was Eren. His hair had been tousled about every which way, and there was some kind of white powder on his face that resembled flour. Actually, I knew it was flour. In his hands was a plate of meticulously decorated gingerbread cookies. Most of them had a fine dusting of powdered sugar atop them, and a choice few were decorated with fine white icing. 

"Hello," Eren said, his voice barely classifiable as a whisper. I tried to stop the smile that threatened to tug at the corners of my lips.

Hopefully before he could notice that I was trying not to smile like an idiot, I gestured for him to come into the room, and closed the door behind him. 

"Um," he began, biting his bottom lip. He fidgeted nervously in place, searching for a place to put down the cookies. "These are for you." Eren held the plate out, I gently took it from him, and set it down on my desk. 

"Thank you, Eren," I breathed, and for once, I had no idea what to say. Eren looked so anxious and uncomfortable, I almost felt bad for him. If I were him, I'd be scared shitless. I intimidated myself, sometimes, and I couldn't imagine what it must've been like to be in a room with me, much less alone. "Gingerbread happens to be my favorite." 

"I know." It was an immediate response. 

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you, now? Where did you hear something like that?" 

Eren's face tensed up, then. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked like he was going to cry. "I'm sorry," he choked, biting his bottom lip again. 

"Don't do that," I snapped. "That's a nasty habit to get into, yeah?" 

Eren nodded sullenly and let go of his lip. I handed him the cookie with the most frosting on it. "Here." 

"But they're for you," he protested, pushing the cookie back toward me. "I made them for you." 

"Just eat the damn cookie, Jaeger." his stubborn façade soon gave way, and he took the cookie from my hand, albeit reluctantly. "Brat." 

I took another cookie from the tray. This one was generously dusted with powdered sugar. The sugar contrasted beautifully with the harsh spice of the ginger. The cookies had clearly been made with the utmost care and precision. Each flavor complemented the next. 

"These are good," I mumbled, between bites. I was never one to talk with my mouth full, but this was an exception. "I'm being honest here, I haven't had good gingerbread in a while." 

I finished off the cookie in three bites, and began to lick the excess powdered sugar off of my fingers when I noticed Eren staring at me. "How _did_ you know?" 

"Hm?" 

"How did you know that gingerbread is my favorite?" 

His gaze left mine immediately, and he stared down at the stone floor. "Petra told me." 

And just like that, my heart sank, and so did Eren. He fell to the floor and began to sob, and I couldn't bear it. I couldn't bear to see anyone else hurt. _I_ was hurt, and I wanted to be the only one hurting. I wanted to take everyone's burdens and carry them all, but I'd been constantly told that it wasn't possible. 

Erwin had told me, at the beginning, that I'd never be able to. "You can't saddle yourself with everyone's burdens, Levi. You have to choose someone who's worth your effort, and stick with them for the rest of your days." For the longest time, I'd been under the influence that that person had been Petra. I had no one, now. I had no one to protect. I had no one to entrust with my care, no one to open up to. 

In a single moment, I decided that person was going to be Eren. I pulled him into my arms and carried him into my room, kicking off my boots before stepping onto the carpet. I set him down on the plush velvet chair in the corner of my room, instinctively draping a blanket across his shoulders. I couldn't bear to leave him like that, even though I was there with him. I felt like I had abandoned him, although I'd never left. 

My movements were awkward and unpracticed as I lifted Eren into my arms, again. Despite my feelings for Petra, I'd never really been remotely intimate. We'd never gone that far, and we hadn't planned to, at least I don't believe she had. The warmth of his skin felt foreign and made my fingertips tingle with newfound curiosity. The situation in itself was terribly somber, but the discovery brought light. Hope, if you will. Eren felt weightless as he rested on my lap, curling into me and burying his face in my shoulder. 

"What are you doing?" He'd asked. 

I didn't respond, I just held him close to me. It hadn't occurred to me how much I'd missed the steady beat of his heart. I didn't realize how much I'd longed for his earthy scent. I didn't want to admit that I'd missed him, yet I had. We sat there for gods know how long, simply basking in the silence that neither of us had any desire to break, with neither words nor actions. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered against my chest, balling his fist in my shirt. 

I shook my head. Without thinking, I threaded my fingers into his auburn hair. A pang of anxiety accompanied the flinch I received in response. "You have nothing to be sorry about," I sighed. It was true. There was nothing he could have done. He'd simply been obeying orders, and I respected him for that. Yes, I resented giving him those orders. I resented obeying the orders given to me that told him what to do. No one could have predicted the intentions and movements of the female-type, and no one was to blame but the person inside the titan itself. 

"I should've—" he began, but I cut him off with a squeeze to his forearm. 

"Don't." 

"But—" 

_"Don't,"_ I repeated, yanking his face away from my shoulder. I cradled his face in my hands, and he didn't pull away, he simply stared into my eyes. I couldn't read his expression at all. Eren was normally an open book; his face normally laid everything I could ever want to know, at least, in the small span of time that I'd taken to get to know him. "Don't do that. Don't blame yourself. You didn't know." Eren's grip on my shirt tightened, and another wave of choked sobs wracked his body. "I'm sorry." He repeated the phrase over and over, as if he didn't believe I'd heard it. Instinctively, I began to rub circles into his upper back with my thumb, being as gentle as possible. 

He stopped, eventually, and so did I. I stopped feeling like I was falling. The hollow feeling in my chest dissolved almost entirely, and my breath came easier. Eren relaxed in my lap, the gentle rise and fall of his chest served as a constant reminder to me that he was still there, that he wasn't going anywhere. I reminded myself that Erwin had promised me we wouldn't leave on such short notice again. Eren wouldn't be in danger for a while. 

No, Eren was always in danger. There would always be people who wanted him dead; The Military Police were at the top of the list, followed by the Wall Cult members and a choice few Sina residents. In fact, it was likely that more than a choice few Sina residents wanted Eren dead. They saw Eren as either a threat, a traitor, and in most cases, both. 

By the time I'd gained enough sense to want to tell Eren to go back to his room, he was fast asleep, and it was well past 2400. I carried him over to my bed and set him down gently. To my relief, he didn't wake up, he only stirred a bit in his sleep. I pulled the flannel blanket up over him, and walked back to the chair. I didn't mind sleeping in the chair at all, apparently. I was asleep within a matter of minutes. 

—

Dreams are a gift, and nightmares a curse. I found myself often bestowed with the latter, but that night, I did not dream. I saw nothing, yet I thought of her. I thought of the way her hair shone brightly in the pale moonlight. I thought of the way my name sounded on her lips, and the way she made every syllable sound monotonous and variant at the same time. I had been hopelessly in love, and in a way, I still was. Every action, every statement she made was magnified and glorified by my mind; she had been an angel in my eyes. She would always be.

I woke long before Eren. I groggily picked up the platinum pocket-watch Erwin had given me for my twenty-ninth birthday and wound up the gears behind it. The tiny hands read 0200. _Insomnia_ , I think, that's what Hanji had called it. She'd described it as the chronic inability to sleep, of which I'd fallen victim to of late. It wasn't hard to fall asleep, in fact, it almost seemed too easy. The problem lay not in my ability to grow tired over the course of 17 hours or so, it lay in the nightmares that plagued me in the early hours of the morning. They were never the same; each time I fell asleep, my mind had come up with a fresh image to torture me with. 

I couldn't go back to sleep. Normally, I'd wake up after a horrifying reenactment of Petra's demise, but no such dream had occurred. I simply sat up and gazed around the empty room, wondering why I was sleeping on the chair. _Eren. Right_. I glanced over at the bed. Sure enough, there he was, the faint rise and fall of the sheets a dead giveaway. 

I've done a lot of irrational things, many of which were choices made during my trainee days. I'd eventually learned that with every action came a consequence, and I'd learned not to do anything idiotic anymore. The thing was, I felt no remorse or regret as I padded across the carpet and crawled into bed next to Eren. 

I didn't exactly lay down next to him, I simply crawled up next to him and leaned up against the headboard, placing a pillow between my head and the wall. 

"Levi," Eren said, and I almost jumped. "What are you doing?" 

"I got cold," I replied, bluntly. It was a lie, obviously, it was the middle of August. 

Eren lifted up the blanket next to him and patted the mattress. "Come here, hurry up," he said, a hint of knowing laughter in his voice. 

I curled up next to him with my back pressed flush against his. Eren practically radiated heat, so I suddenly became tenfold warmer than I had been before. _It must be because he's a titan shifter,_ I thought. 

I didn't sleep this time. Without realizing it, my hand crept over to where his rested, and I wrapped my fingers around his. There was nothing explicitly platonic about the gesture, nor did I intend it to be romantic in any way. For some reason, at that moment, feeling the warmth of his had seemed a necessity. It was an awkward position, I lay there with my right arm above my head. My shoulder began to ache, and I almost let out a groan of discomfort. 

I had two options. Option one: Simply remove my hand from his and go about trying to sleep back-to-back with Eren. Option two: roll over. I was reluctant to admit that the second option made my face grow hot and my heart race uncontrollably. I was also reluctant to admit that I _wanted_ to follow through with the second option. Before I could do so, however, Eren rolled over, and wrapped his arms around me. His hand slipped from mine in the process. 

My heart skipped a beat. "I'm awake, you know," He whispered, grabbing my hand again, and I flinched. He let go of my hand. "I'm sorry, are you okay?" 

I nodded and reached for his hand again, pulling it in to rest on my chest. "I'm fine. You're fine, just stay like this." 

I fell asleep before any form of embarrassment or regret could begin to set in. 

—

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the telltale smell of biscuits. The sweet scent filled the room, and my stomach growled in anticipation. The sun had risen a while ago, the golden light that shone faintly through the window cast no light on the carpet. Eren's hand was still in mine. He hadn't moved all night. 

As gently as I could, I rolled over onto my side so I was facing him. I found stupid joy in his sleeping face; his brow furrowed slightly, as if he were concentrating on something, and his jaw relaxed. His hair fell in front of his forehead in places, and I brushed it out of the way. It'd gotten so much longer since he'd first joined the Corps, yet I'd never noticed the difference until now. I hadn't noticed a lot of things about Eren until recently. I twirled the strand of his hair between my fingertips and eventually tucked it behind his ear. 

Eren blinked awake and rubbed his eyes drowsily. His actions dislodged the strand of hair I'd fixed, and I quickly put it back in its place. "You need a haircut, brat." 

Eren smiled. "Sorry," he said, like it was a problem. 

"That wasn't an order," I muttered, "You don't have to cut your hair, I mean." 

"Oh!" Eren sat up suddenly. "Shit!" He jumped up and searched frantically for his boots, which had placed in the short hallway connecting my room and office. 

I sat up, too, wondering what on earth he could possibly have to do at this hour of the morning. I might've had a clue, had everything he was sputtering about been remotely intelligible. "What on _earth_ are you going on about, Jaeger?"

Eren peeked his head out from the hallway. "I'm late for training, um—" 

"Get over here, for a second." 

Eren stepped into the doorway and looked down at his feet. His boots were fully laced, and how he'd managed to do so so quickly was entirely beyond me. "I've got my boots on, sir." 

"I don't care," I said, and honestly, I didn't. For the first time in quite a while, I set aside my obsession with perfection, and I gave him permission to walk on the carpeted floor in his training boots. His boots hadn't dried. Those stains would take all day to get out of the carpet, but I didn't care in the slightest.

The only thing I cared about was the way it felt to be surrounded by his embrace.

—

 _EREN_

I'd never taken into account how it might've felt to be in love with someone. The thought had never occurred to me, and It'd never been brought up in conversation, nor had the concept ever applied to me at any given time in my life. I simply hadn't had either the capacity for consideration, or time thereof to consider such things. It'd just never seemed important. 

I found myself slipping in and out of a foggy daze lately, one I couldn't leave entirely. It was like trying to run through a cloud of mist with no sense of direction whatsoever. I rarely ever knew what was going on, anyway. 

"Earth to Eren, hello?" Mikasa waved her hand in front of my face. "He asked you a question." 

I shook my head, attempting to dissociate my mind from the confines of my daydream. "Who?" 

"Armin asked you a question." She rolled her eyes. 

"It's been answered," Armin laughed. 

"Has it?" Mikasa laughed, too. It'd been a while since I'd seen her laugh. It was a rare occurrence, and I hadn't expected it, especially with our situation the way it was. 

Armin ignored Mikasa. "How much sleep have you been getting, Eren?" He asked, glancing at the watch on his wrist. 

I shook my head. "Is 'too much' a valid answer?" I'd been sleeping a bit more than normal since I'd gone to Levi's, since he didn't have one of those special clocks. I wasn't sure if getting too much sleep was unhealthy or something, and I was somewhat caught off guard when Armin nodded. 

"Change in sleep schedule can make you feel tired." 

"Oh," was all I said. 

We spent the rest of the day on complex maneuver drills; no one questioned why, because we all just _knew_. I don't think there was anyone in the entire corps that hadn't heard about Levi's squad. It's one of those things that you know better not to ask about unless it's brought up in conversation, which it never was. 

About halfway through the day, it began to rain. Not the soft, calming, pitter-patter of rainfall, the rain fell from the sky with no end in sight. The sun didn't shine, and by 1500, it was dark outside. Every trainee trudged into the main hallway of HQ, soaked and chilled to the bone. I pulled off my rain-soaked cloak and slung it over my shoulder. I yanked off my muddy boots and instinctively started out toward my quarters so I could change and go to Levi's, but a hand on my shoulder stopped me. I turned around to face Sasha, whom I hadn't expected to see at all. 

"Did he like the cookies?" Sasha asked. Her hair was soaked from the rain, and I hoped to god that she hadn't considered the sudden torrential downpour a substitute for bathing. Knowing Sasha, however, she had, and that meant Connie had, as well. 

"He did," I smiled, "thank you." 

"I'm glad!" She chirped, and with that, she was bounding away like she'd just received the greatest news of her life, tracking mud and water down the hall behind her. Levi would have a fit about that. 

I slowly made my way back to my quarters, and was surprised to find Armin lying in his bed, holding a book inches above his face. I wondered how long he'd been holding the book like that, and how he was able to support the book in such a position without having the circulation in his arms and wrists cut off. 

"Hello, Eren," he said, without looking up, and turned the page. 

"Hey, Armin." Thunder rolled in the distance, and I hoped no water would come in through the window. It didn't just let in drafts—it leaked, which was worse, since our room was facing the direction from which the wind came, most of the time. There wasn't a room in HQ without a leak, in fact, at least not as far as I knew. "Have you seen my scarf?" I asked, shucking off my uniform jacket onto the chair in the corner of the room. I began to work off my gear, glancing around the room for a place that I could've put my scarf. 

"It's on Mikasa, last I checked." Armin turned the page again. "It usually is, I don't think she ever takes it off." 

I shook my head and pulled the straps free of my left leg. "Not that one, the blue one." 

"Oh," Armin reached across the bed and smiled, pulling the scarf from where it hung off of the top bunk. "You left it on the floor, so I hid it." 

"Why the hell did you hide it?" I asked, catching the scarf as Armin threw it toward me. 

"Because you're an idiot," Armin laughed. "You're not going outside, are you?" 

"No, I'm not, it's pouring buckets." I freed my right leg from the straps and tossed the empty harness onto the chair on top of my jacket. I'd deal with it later. 

"Where are you going?" Armin asked, finally putting down his book and looking at me. 

"I'm going to see Levi." I waved and wrapped the scarf around my neck. "If I'm not back by 2100, then I'll see you tomorrow morning." 

"I'll see you." With that, Armin raised the book and began to read again. 

The stained glass windows on the walls of the skywalk held a melancholy air as the rain dripped down the multicolored shards. The religious iconography of the three walls were clearly laid out between the colors, except Maria still stood strong. These windows had been forged long before the fall. I'd walked past them every day on my way to Levi's, yet I'd never taken the time to look at them for longer than the meager two minutes it took to walk through the skywalk. My thoughts were interrupted by the _drip_ of water on the tip of my nose. 

I looked up, then down. A small puddle had begun to form on the stone floor. I made a mental note to tell someone about that later, or tomorrow. Probably tomorrow. 

I knocked on Levi's office door, this time. There was no response. I hadn't really expected one. I figured he was probably sleeping, so I crossed the hall to where the door to his quarters was. The knob felt unnaturally cold beneath my fingertips, and all at once, the rain seemed to grow louder.

I hadn't expected to find him sitting on the windowsill, shirtless and looking more sleep-deprived than he had in months. The window was open, and the wind and rain were free to come in as they wished. He clutched a cigarette between his index and middle fingers, but it was unlit. It took me by surprise, it'd seemed like a dirty habit, one that Levi would never pick up. It was also an expensive habit, since tobacco was rationed. His hair was mussed about, and his skin held a soft sheen from the rainwater that had blown through the open window. The whole situation struck me as oddly calming, and I couldn't place _why_. 

At first glance, he seemed fine, but when I stepped closer to him, I noticed the red markings and welts that covered his shoulders and torso. 

They twisted and turned all over his skin, and glowed an angry crimson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, 5,000+ words later! Sorry for the long wait, guys. I've been a bit busy. 
> 
> So begins the emotional roller-coaster that this story is going to be. :s 
> 
> —
> 
> Thank you to my lovely girlfriend, [Becca](http://nightvaleandotherweirdness.tumblr.com) for beta-ing this story! 
> 
> My tumblr is [er-uri](http://er-uri.tumblr.com)


	5. Close Proximity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****YO THERES SOME MENTIONS OF SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER PLEASE BE AWARE OF THAT****
> 
> —
> 
> Yeah um this chapter hits a little close to home and I'm almost sorry about that idk 
> 
> This whole fuckin story is gettin real heavy and I'm also sorry about that 
> 
> I do have a plot in mind though, so it's not completely random and I'm not just writing this to vent about things, I promise. I've just been goin through a lot of shit lately and sometimes it helps to put some background characters in my shoes, ya feel? 
> 
> That being said, enjoy the chapter.

My feet felt as if they were glued to the floor. My throat went dry, and I tried to speak, but no words came. Levi suddenly whipped his head around, with his eyes wide and his face twisted into an expression of terror. The scene in itself was terrifying, but the look on his face made it _so_ much worse; the chink in his stoical façade had given way, in a matter of only moments. 

His breath was raspy and urgent as he scrambled for his shirt. "Get out," he commanded. "Get out of here. _Now_." He didn't have to raise his voice. I knew that there was no arguing with that tone. I could never win an argument against him, not while he was like this, not ever, most likely. 

He had every right to be cross with me, after all. I'd walked in on something I shouldn't have seen. I'd broken down a barrier that he'd wanted to remain up. I wasn't supposed to know anything about him on such a personal level. Levi grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and shoved me out of the room. His roughness caught me off guard more than I'd like to admit, and I stumbled backward against the wall. 

"No one." He clenched his fists. "No one can know." 

I nodded and took off down the hallway. 

I didn't look back.

—

Armin had fallen asleep on my bunk, again. I supposed he hadn't expected me to return, and I hadn't expected to return. Even if Levi hadn't kicked me out of his quarters the way he had, I still didn't think I would've spent the night. 

There are some things that scare you, and you don't know why. When I had first been thrown into the cell beneath the Sina Courthouse, Moblit had kept me company through the night. He'd told me about some of Hanji's research, which, at one point, had explored human behaviors and phobias. He'd told me that there were different words for different phobias, and that people with each fear couldn't always explain why they were afraid of certain things. I'd learned what to call my fear of spiders, the word had been _arachnophobia_ , I think. 

I didn't know the word for the fear of welts and bruises. I hadn't been afraid of the markings themselves, if been heavily concerned for their _origin_. They'd followed the path of the maneuver gear perfectly, but Levi had been using the maneuver gear for long enough that such a thing couldn't possibly be happening. After using the gear for so long, the initial persistent blistering gives way to a rough, irritating callus. Levi had been in the corps for long enough that he'd be used to the gear. 

I swallowed and sniffed. I was _definitely_ not crying about this. Armin stirred as I stepped on the third step of the ladder. _Damn that squeaky rung_ , I thought. I assumed he'd just been turning over in his sleep, but before I could move my right foot to the next rung, he grabbed my ankle. 

"Eren?" 

I didn't respond. I remained frozen on the ladder. His hand was freezing and his grip on my ankle was like iron. "Eren, you're back early, are you okay?" Tears began to form in my eyes before I could make any attempt to stop them. I sniffed again, and stepped down the ladder. There was a shuffling of feet as Armin got out of bed. I felt his hands at my shoulders, guiding me back to the bottom bunk. He crossed the room, lit an oil lantern, and brought it back to hang on the wall. 

"Eren. What happened?" His tone was unwavering, but the concern was clearly written all over his face. 

I shook my head. Levi had made me promise. Well, he hadn't made me promise, but the meager conversation we'd exchanged had been enough for me to think twice about telling anyone. I didn't want to betray Levi's trust when I'd worked so hard to simply get a glimpse of it. 

"Is this about Levi?" Armin asked, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. Instinctively, I shook my head. It felt awful to lie, but perhaps I could get some kind of advice out of Armin without letting him know about Levi. I swallowed, hard. The air around me felt heavy with the weight of what I was planning to do; and every millisecond that ticked by felt like an hour. I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell Armin, but I'd come this far, and it felt wrong to think about backing out. 

"Have you ever been scared?" I asked. "Not like when you face the titans. I know that's fear, but have you ever been _more_ scared than that?" 

Armin nodded, and that surprised me. "There are multiple types of fear, Eren. The word 'fear,' in itself, cannot be defined. Too many people see it as something different. The fear that the titans have placed within me doesn't compare, however, for the fear I feel for those close to me." 

"What happened, to make you that scared?"Armin clenched his fist and took a deep breath. For a moment I was afraid I'd overstepped my boundaries, but he didn't remain silent. 

"I had a friend, in the 104th. She'd visit—a lot more than a typical friend would, and she was really quiet. I was the only person she'd talk to, as far as I was aware of. She was good at everything, much better than I could've ever hoped to be, and she gave me advice, too." Armin paused, and his face contorted into a mix of great sadness and anger. "I don't know where she is; I don't know what happened to her. I don't know if she's even alive, anymore," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. I was tempted to ask if he was okay, but he wasn't done. 

"She used to take apart the blades. The ones for killing titans, I mean. She'd take them apart and use them on herself." Now he really was crying, and I didn't know whether or not to comfort him. I'd always been able to—in the past, but there was a completely different air about this situation. It wasn't anything like all of those times he'd come running to me, or the times Mikasa and I would run to him. This was much darker, and much more serious. 

"When I found out," Armin whispered, "it scared me more than any titan ever could." He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and stared at me. "I'm sorry, I just—" 

"No, it's okay. That's actually—" I paused. "Yeah, that's kind of—" I tried to form words, but none came. "I'm sorry I don't—" 

"I don't expect you to know what to say, Eren. It's a sensitive topic." I don't know why it still surprised me that he knew exactly what I'd been thinking, even though I had only spoken a few words. He'd always been like that. "I'm sorry, I just—" 

I cut him off by wrapping my arms around his small frame and pulling him close to me. "Shh. Don't worry about it, Armin," I whispered, running circles on his back. Armin buried his face in my shoulder and began to sob again. "I worry about her every day, Eren. I wish I could've done something. It was so awful, Eren, it was just—" 

"I know." I blew out the lantern. "I know how it feels to worry, like that." 

"It's him, isn't it?" Armin asked, and I nodded, though I didn't know if he could see me. 

"He blames himself. I blame myself. We're two of a kind," I laughed, bitterly. "It's terrifying. Red is a terrifying color." My words only caused Armin to sob more, and I held him tighter to me. "I'm sorry, Armin. I'm so sorry." 

"Stop apologizing. Go to sleep," he whispered. I crawled underneath the covers, and he crawled in beside me. Neither of us spoke, I simply continued to trace circles into the cotton of his nightshirt until he fell asleep. Once i was sure he was asleep, I stood up and padded across the room to the chair where I'd left my gear. I pulled the tiny notebook from the pocket of my jacket and went back to the bed to retrieve the oil lantern. 

I re-lit the lantern and set it down on the desk, making sure not to make too much noise pulling the chair out. I sat down and quickly set to work wetting the jade ink and fixing one of the fancy quills that Armin kept in the bottom drawer. I didn't know how to go about writing an apology letter—to be honest, I didn't know what exactly I was apologizing for, but if it would help Levi in any way, I was willing to give it a try. 

_Captain,_

_I'm sorry._

Two hours later, and that was as far as I'd gotten. I fisted my hair and exhaled harshly in frustration. I decided that it was good enough, somehow. I glanced over at the tabletop clock. The hands read 0114. The clock ran something Armin had called '12 hour time,' but I still couldn't understand it, despite my vast efforts to comprehend what the hands meant. I knew that 1300 was 1:00, which confused me, because 1:00 was also 0100 sometimes, and 1400 was 2:00, but 2:00 could also be 0200, and so on. I could only really understand what the 12 hours meant until 1200, and then I got lost. 

I padded down the hall and up the spiral staircase. The castle was nothing short of creepy at night, since Hanji and Mike went through at exactly 2000 each night and extinguished all of the torches in all of the hallways. The only ones kept burning were the ones in the main hall. I'd never been afraid of the dark, but there's always something exceedingly oppressive about pitch black corridors and hallways. The stained glass windows no longer cast colorful shards of light on the stone floor, and the hall no longer held the warmth that the torches provided during the daytime. I didn't run across the skywalk, I _sprinted_. I crumpled up the note in my fist, and tossed it to the floor. I didn't need it. 

Why write down something you can say? Why write something down when the weight of spoken words holds more than ink and paper ever can? Why was I so insistent on helping Levi?

I felt responsible, if anything. I still hadn't forgiven myself, and I wasn't sure if he had, either, but I was sure that in time, if I kept at it, he'd find a way, and I would too. There was no we, not yet. I didn't think there would ever be a we. There was a strict line between superior and subordinate, one I didn't want to cross, not for the sake of a friendship. I simply wanted to let Levi know he wasn't alone. I wanted to let him know that I was there. I knocked on his door so hard my knuckles hurt, and it opened almost immediately. 

"You're an idiot," he said, and yanked me through the door by my scarf. "I told you to leave me alone,why are you back here?" 

"I'm worried, why the hell do you think?" 

Levi seemed taken aback, if anything. "It's two in the morning, get out of my fucking office, Jaeger," He scowled, gesturing toward the door with his thumb. 

I paused, and fought the urge to laugh at how contradictory his command was. He'd just yanked me _into_ his office, and now he was demanding (rather rudely, might I add) that I get out. I hadn't even been in his office for a minute. "I'm not leaving," I exclaimed. "I'm genuinely worried for your well-being, and I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong." 

Levi raised an eyebrow and scoffed. The scoff turned into a deep, bitter, and sardonic laugh. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and every second that he spent laughing was like a punch to the gut. "Does it look like I give a shit? I don't. Get your sorry ass out of here before I demote you, Jaeger." He spat out my name like it was poison on his tongue, and the fire in his eyes struck enough fear in me to make me think better of arguing. His words rendered me both speechless and unwilling to move. What terrified me more was the look in his eyes. I knew his gaze all too well. It was the same look he'd had in the courtroom, only this time, the look of pure hatred and violence was genuine. I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood and backed up, slowly. Tears pricked at my eyes, but I ignored them. 

I could've sworn I saw his face soften as I bolted down the hallway and down the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet in the darkness. 

I didn't notice that in his rage, he'd ripped off my scarf. 

—

_LEVI_

I was beginning to consider making a list of all of the shitty decisions I'd been making lately: tightening the gear, snapping at Eren, kicking Eren out, letting myself get closer to Eren than I was willing to acknowledge. All of said mistakes seemed to revolve around Eren. 

I hadn't spoken to anyone other than Hanji, Erwin, and Eren since I'd returned. I felt dry and devoid of human interaction, save for the only three people who remained that were close to me. I didn't simply miss my squad, I _craved_ their presence, because sometimes, they had felt like the only ones who understood me, whether I told them something in great detail or little at all. 

I couldn't remember the color of her hair, anymore. I couldn't remember the warm glow of her eyes, or the gentleness with which she held me. Some part of me didn't want to. It felt like half of me was ready to let go, and the other half held tight to every memory possible to conjure. 

Sadistic as it sounds, pain made me feel more alive than I'd ever felt before. I hadn't appreciated the harsh burn of leather on skin until a few days ago. I hadn't appreciated the explosion of pain when I held a match to my knuckle for too long. I never thought I'd crave the sight of the angry irritation and burn of a fresh injury, but somehow I'd become accustomed to the feeling. 

It just so happened that I was out of matches, and I didn't have the energy or motivation to get up and go get more from the supply room downstairs. 

I got up from the floor (I didn't remember ever sitting down,) and went into my office to feed Hanji's rabbits. Both were fast asleep, as I should have been, and I suddenly felt bad for not feeding them earlier. I didn't know how many times a day they were supposed to be fed, so I opted for two. The clatter of food in the dish woke up Daffodil, but Bean remained fast asleep. 

"Sorry," I whispered, scratching Daffodil's nose through the wire of the cage, "you probably got hungry." Daffodil simply wrinkled her nose and hopped to the other side of the cage. 

I sat down at my desk and opened the drawer. The patches were still there, where I'd left them. Nobody had come in or out, I reminded myself, yet I still found myself saddled with the anxiety that someone had come in and taken them out of the drawer. I took the patches out and closed the drawer. 

_Don't do it._

Something in my head screamed at me as I crossed the floor to where the fire burned weakly in the hearth. I grabbed the fire iron and shoved the coals around rougher than probably was necessary until the fire leapt back to life. I tossed another log into the flame. 

_Don't._

My mind screamed at me to stop, but I didn't. I tossed the first patch in. 

_Erd Gin._

The second went easier than the first. 

_Gunter Schultz._

I hesitated, but decided better of it. 

_Auruo Bossard._

I did not hesitate. My motion was fluid, and my arm did not falter as I cast the fourth patch into the flame. 

_Petra Ral._

The flames glowed bright. Brighter than her strawberry blonde hair, and brighter than her golden eyes.

My hand fumbled on the floor for Eren's scarf. My fingers danced across the floor in front of me, I pulled the blue flannel in to my nose, and I inhaled deeply. The scarf held the scent of earth and the distinguishable scent of maple sugar. The material was soft and warm beneath my fingertips, and I wrapped the scarf around my neck. 

I fell asleep curled up in front of the fire, spent and relieved, in a sense. 

I did not dream, and I did not think.

— 

Eren didn't come back the next day. There was no note, no two knocks, nothing. He'd taken my command to heart, as I'd expected him to. Every once in a while, I'd get a recruit like that. They were everything a superior officer could ever dream of; they obeyed every order given without question. My squad had been like that. 

I fed Hanji's rabbits once before I went to see Hanji for breakfast, and once after she came to see me for dinner. We'd fallen into this kind of routine; I went to see her for breakfast, because she ate too early in the morning for me to even dream about getting up and going to see her then, and then she brought me lunch and dinner, but she'd stay for dinner. 

We didn't really talk, either, during these visits. Sometimes Hanji wouldn't shut up about one thing in particular, and sometimes you couldn't get her to shut up about everything all at once, there was really no in-between. Her conversation habits weren't something I complained about listening to, because sometimes they covered things that I probably should've known. For example: yesterday, she was talking about some kind of new research she was working on regarding titan eyesight. Today she was going over a bunch of strategies and formation reviews that I'd missed, maps and all. I supposed it wasn't as bad as spending the entire day alone in my room, but certain things get boring, after a while. 

"You're awfully talkative today," Hanji mused, pushing her broccoli over to the other side of her plate. 

"I'm _never_ talkative," I said. 

"I was being sarcastic." Hanji rolled her eyes. 

"I know," I muttered, shoving a floret of broccoli in my mouth. 

"How's Eren?" She asked. 

I shot her a look of disbelief. "I wouldn't know, I'm not his mother." 

Hanji scowled. "His mother is dead." 

I shook my head and returned to my plate of food. "Gee, sorry for being an insensitive prick, Hanji, but I honestly didn't know." 

"I take it you didn't know that he's from Shiganshina, either." 

I'd learned that much from his friends. Perhaps I should've assumed the worst. "No, I've known," I muttered. 

"Oh," she sighed. "That kid's been through hell and back, I'm not surprised he's almost unfazed by this whole 57th expedition thing." 

"The shock hasn't hit him yet." 

"It's not going to." 

I put down my fork and stood up. "I've been through hell and back. The shock hit me. Give him some time." I pushed my chair in. "Good night, Hanji." 

I almost ran into Mikasa on the way back to my office. She glared at me, a gesture which I ignored. Perhaps the blue scarf around my neck was a contributing factor. 

—

Doing absolutely nothing never gets old. It's especially relaxing for people like me, who don't really like doing anything if they have any say in the matter. I'm one of those people that constantly complains about having to do shit that I don't want to do, if you take into account that I don't talk much and my complaints are rarely taken into account. I don't complain to people, either, if that counts for anything. I'll complain to inanimate objects, sometimes, and I'm not sure if that's normal, not because I don't like talking to people, but because I'm talking to inanimate objects. I don't like talking to people because certain people don't know when to shut up, and that's a problem of I don't want every recruit and their brother talking about what I do and do not like to do during my free time. 

Therein lay my problem. Hanji couldn't keep her mouth shut to save her life. Erwin was flat out hard to talk to. Eren—I didn't know about Eren. I didn't know anything about him. I didn't know how well he listened to people, though I knew he listened well enough to dubiously obey orders. I didn't know what he was like around his friends. When I stopped to think about it, I didn't know him very well at all. 

There's something I don't like about getting to know people. There's something I don't like about telling people things. It makes me feel weak. For lack of a better word, it makes me feel like shit. I don't like it. Maybe that was my problem. Maybe I needed to _learn_ to like telling people these things, but it's really damn hard when that's the what you're used to. Change is hard, especially when you're used to doing the same damn thing over and over and over. 

Take killing titans, for example. Everyone else holds the swords blade up, and pull the triggers with either their index fingers or their middle fingers. I hold the blades point down, and I use my pinkies to trigger. Erwin told me to try killing a titan the other way, and I almost lost my leg, so we agreed that the old way was fine. The next day, I caught Auruo attempting to hold the blades the way I did. I told him to stop, and if I caught him doing so again, I'd demote him, and he'd be off of the squad. Thinking of Auruo and old times made me want to throw up the dinner that I'd just eaten. I slouched down in my chair and groaned, trying to keep the contents of my stomach at bay. _Shit._

I took Eren's blue scarf from off of the desk, wrapped it around my neck, and raised the soft fabric to my nose. Creepy as it were, the familiar smell calmed me. I felt like a piece of shit for keeping the scarf, but I had neither the courage or will to try and return it. I also wasn't ready to face Eren, again. I knew I'd have to apologize, but now was not the time. I wondered if I'd ever feel like it was the time to apologize. Probably not. 

I gently lifted Daffodil out of the cage and put her in my lap. I'd been giving bean far much more attention to Bean than I'd given to Daffodil, and I felt kind of bad about that. "You're lucky," I sighed, scratching Daffodil between her ears. "All you have to worry about is looking cute." 

Daffodil just wrinkled her nose. 

I don't really remember much, after that. I remember putting Daffodil back into her cage, but I don't remember going back into my room and curling up by the fire again. It's confusing to wake up in a place that you have no recollection of falling asleep in, and it's not like I'd never done it before. It's one of those things that no matter how many times you do it, you never fully become accustomed to the feeling. I absolutely _hate_ the feeling of waking up in an unfamiliar place, and sometimes when I do wake up in an unexpected place, I panic. I like having control over as many things as I can. 

I stretched, and my sides hurt more than they normally did. I blamed it on the fact that I'd slept on the floor. I showered, and poured the remaining amount of alcohol in the bottle beneath my sink over my shoulders and back. It didn't make me feel clean, and it didn't make me feel any less injured. It _burned_ , unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I shuddered, not because it burned, but because I kind of _liked_ the feeling. 

"I'm pretty fucked up, huh?" I breathed, staring at the disheveled state of my hair in the mirror. _Hell, you're talking to your reflection_ , I thought. 

There's always a first for everything, and I'd never caught Eren putting a note by my door, but when I pulled open the door, there he was. 

Eren froze, and his eyes darted upward. "Hello." 

His greeting was blunt, and otherwise meaningless. He didn't mean anything by it other than a subtle dismissal of interest, really; I could tell from the way he proceeded to pick up the note and shove it back in his breast pocket, and from how he casually brushed a strand of his overgrown hair behind his ear, all while maintaining a look that practically screamed passive-aggressive. He stood up, shot me a glare that almost made my blood run cold, and began to walk away, but I caught him by the sleeve of his shirt. 

"Give me the note." It was more of a blatant statement than a command, and Eren didn't react, he simply looked back at me and continued to stare at me with that same furious gaze. "Give me the note," I repeated, my voice more firm this time. 

Eren shook his head, and started off down the hallway, ignoring my declaration of: "Wait."

I've always been a violent person; living in the crime-ridden Sina underground does that to a person, especially if you've never known anything different. My violent tendencies had been downscaled drastically since I'd joined the Survey Corps, but they'd always been there, and how I chose to vent my desires always depended on the situation entirely. I'd never been violent toward people, however. Unless I felt remotely threatened in any way, I'd never inflict injury upon another person. 

So, given this information, it seems completely out of character for me to tackle Eren. It wasn't a gentle tackle, either, if it's at all possible to tackle someone gently, which I don't think it is. Eren lets out a rushed exhalation of "Oh!", and both he and I fell to the ground with a less-than graceful _thud_. I'd had softer landings, and I'm sure Eren had, too. I suddenly felt bad for crushing him, since I'm 60 kilos of pure muscle. I scrambled to my feet, dusting off my shirt, though I didn't know why. I was the one that dusted the floor compulsively every other day. Pure unavoidable habit, I supposed. Eren still lay on the ground, staring at me with a look of contempt and disbelief, one eyebrow raised and head cocked to the side rather comically. I reached down and pulled the note out of his pocket. 

"Permission to speak freely," Eren muttered, propping himself up on his elbows. 

I felt like I should give him that much, at least, but despite the fact that I'd just tackled him and possibly caused him a great deal of pain, it didn't seem so easy a task. "Granted," I managed, glancing down at the note, still folded, in my hand. 

"Please don't ever fucking do that again." He stood up. "Ever."

Simply to spite him, I began to unfold the piece of parchment in my hands. He didn't flinch as my fingers moved to unfold the creases. He didn't show any emotion whatsoever as I turned my undivided attention to the scrap of paper in my hands, preparing to make some form of witty comment about its content. 

It was blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my [girlfriend](http://nightvaleandotherweirdness.tumblr.com) who is somehow still able to put up with this heart wrenching fanfic
> 
> My tumblr changed I'm not lord-Rivaille anymore I'm [er-uri](http://er-uri.tumblr.com) so donut be confused
> 
> The next chapter might be happier who knows


	6. You and Me Both

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter early! Woo! This one's a bit happier, but a chapter is not a chapter without angst.

There was a point in my life at which I reached a certain level of impregnable pride, of which I hadn't yet, and realistically wouldn't, ever come to terms with. I was too far gone in my world of independence and denial to concern myself with setting aside my pride, even for the least significant of reasons. 

I didn't want to admit that Eren had tricked me, but he had. I knew that was what he'd been waiting for, but it was another thing that I wasn't about to give him. "Very funny," I said, folding up the paper and tossing it his way. 

Eren frowned and crossed his arms. "I don't get an apology?" 

"I don't see why you'd need one." 

He simply scoffed and walked away. 

—

I returned to my office and opened the drawer, only to find the patches missing. _That's right, you burned them, you fuckwit_ , I thought. I found that the flames had reduced the patches to a pile of ash. The fire no longer burned brightly in the hearth. There were a few stray pieces of thread on the floor, and they stood out against the black carpet. They were golden red, and upon further inspection, I realized that they were not from the patches. They were strands of human hair. Her hair. 

It was suddenly hard to breathe. The carpet felt sharp beneath my fingertips, and the unpolished stone of the hearth bit into my hand as my fingers scrambled for purchase on its surface. 

"Levi," she said, and I could see her on the roof. "Levi, we can't—" 

"Do you really not want to?" I could hear the strain in my voice. I could feel the tightness in my chest, and I could feel the rain on my shoulders and in my hair. 

"That's the problem, I _do_ , and I know we shouldn't," she whispered, and there were tears in her eyes. It killed me. Among everything else that was happening at the time: the mission, the situation with Eren, none of it mattered to me. Protecting her had mattered. Secrecy and discretion had mattered. Both of our positions were placed in jeopardy. My life was placed in jeopardy, but something had told me that this was worth it; somehow it'd registered in my mind that the concept of my life was inferior to the possibility of a relationship with another. "You could die." 

"But I won't," I whispered, and reached out to caress her cheek, but she slapped my hand away. 

"Sometimes I wonder if you even care." She avoided my gaze. I didn't have an answer for that, so I remained silent. "If I die tomorrow, on the mission, will you care?" 

My breath hitched in my throat, and I stared at her in horror. "Petra, what the fuck?" 

Her eyes softened, but her somber expression did not change as she reached out, grabbed me by the collar, and pulled me in to kiss her. 

She pulled away, and smiled. "You're so unpleasant, Captain." 

"Please don't call me that." I rolled my eyes, and she yanked on my collar again.

I don't remember her lips as being soft. That's something people are often led to assume: that every woman's lips are as soft as Rose petals, and that their hands are equally so. Petra's lips were chapped, broken, bloody in places, and her hands were blistered and bruised. It's not like I minded, I didn't mind one bit, but I like to think that the divergence from assumption helped me remember every living, breathing detail of her presence. I'd mapped out every inch of her skin with my fingertips; every scar and blemish was familiar to me. 

"If I don't come back—" she began, but I kissed her again, and the words died on her tongue. I could tell she was fighting between the desire to kiss me and the urgency of the words she hadn't yet spoken. She pressed her palms against my chest and pushed me backward. "If I don't come back, don't—" 

"Go ballistic?" I raised an eyebrow. "Petra, you're all I've got. Of course I'm going to be upset, so do me a favor and _don't die_. Besides, if I wasn't confident in your abilities, I wouldn't have chosen you for my squad. I _know_ you'll live." 

"I'll do my best," she smiled, gently. I could see the tears in her eyes, and I could taste the rain in the air. 

I felt like I was going to throw up. Everything seemed so far away. The handle of the washroom door felt so far away, and so did the door leading to the hall. The room wouldn't stop spinning. I was going every direction at once, and my head _hurt_ so much, to the point where I wanted to hit it on the stone floor. Repeatedly. Instead of hitting my head on the floor, however, I just laid down on the cold stone. 

I don't know how long I was sprawled out on the floor, but when I woke up, it was dark, but there was light in the room. The fireplace was alive with the crackling of flame, and a lantern sat on my desk. 

"Are you awake?" Tiny feet padded across the room, and Eren crouched down next to me. "You're really pale. Shit, are you okay?" I didn't have time to respond. I was too busy scrambling to get to the washroom as my stomach lurched. I was unsuccessful in my attempts, however, and I fell on my face. Eren reached out to help me, and I reluctantly grabbed his hand. "Levi—"

"Get me to the bathroom or I'll puke on you," was all I said, and that was enough to get him moving. The floor was cold; everything was cold, really, and I shivered as Eren set me down on the floor, even though I had no recollection of ever being picked up. The shitstorm in my stomach had calmed down to some degree, but I could tell that if I so much as moved I was going to say hello to whatever was in my stomach for a second time. 

Eren sat down on the edge of the washtub, and I didn't have the energy to tell him to get off—I'd just cleaned it yesterday. Or maybe I hadn't just cleaned it yesterday and my mind was feeding me false information in an attempt to calm me down. Everything was cold and hot at the same time, and I couldn't draw the line between which was which anymore. I couldn't tell whether the sweat on my brow was caused by overexertion or lack of sustenance, or if the cause was somewhere in between. I can't remember what exactly was going through my head as I muttered "Window," to Eren, but it couldn't have been any kind of logical thought process. I was intoxicated enough on delirium to be disappointed when Eren shook his head at my request, but the frustration soon transferred to another bout of nausea, and I actually threw up this time. 

I don't get sick often, but when I do, it's _bad_. I wasn't sure if it was even a bug, or if it was caused by the sudden panic that I'd experienced earlier. I was definitely in the wrong state of being here, and I decided that I wasn't going to leave the bathroom until I felt well enough to eat something. I didn't notice Eren's hand on my back until my head stopped spinning, and I didn't have enough energy to push him away again. 

He left, sometime between the time I started shivering uncontrollably and when I puked for the second time. I'm fairly sure he wasn't there when I puked the second time, and I'm glad, because I remember making a noise that sounded like some otherworldly being attempting to lift something twice its weight. I eventually reached the conclusion that I'm not as silent as I previously had thought when I got sick. Figures. 

Eren returned with a blanket and two mugs full of something that I assumed was water. I swatted the blanket away, and reached drowsily for the water. The mug shook in my hands as I raised it to my lips, and it began to slip from my fingertips. Eren took it from my hands and held it up to me. I hated his help. I hated being the weak one. I'd promised myself that I'd never let anyone else in, and there I was, allowing myself to be cared for by someone. (My subordinate, no less.) 

"Christ, Levi, have you eaten anything in the past twelve hours?" He pulled the mug back and a little bit of water trickled down my chin. My lethargy rendered me unable to wipe it away. "God, you're freezing, here." He wrapped the blanket around my shoulders and attempted to help me stand and walk me back into the other room, but my feet were wobbly and my knees were weak, and my stomach still churned with every minute movement or muscle effort. He held tightly to my shoulders as I collapsed on the floor again. "You want to stay here?" 

"Mm," was all I said, and realistically, all I could say. 

"I'll be right back," Eren mused, and walked out of the bathroom. He'd taken off both his shoes and his socks, and for some reason that gave me a sense of relief, as if cleanliness mattered to me at all in that moment. He returned a few minutes later, out of breath, with a foreign feather pillow and an assortment of foreign blankets. I'd never seen any of these things before, and I automatically assumed they were Eren's. 

He spread out a puffy dark blue blanket on the floor next to me, and put another green blanket on top of that one. He topped off the makeshift bed with two pillows, one of which I recognized as mine. 

Before that day, I hadn't ever remembered in great detail what it was like to be cared for. I didn't remember what it felt like to be lifted into someone's arms, and I didn't remember what it felt like to have a gentle hand pressed to my forehead. I'd never been comforted in such a manner. Eren's arms were warm: soft, even. I felt cold and helpless without his touch, and my absence from his arms left me feeling empty and vulnerable in a way I couldn't explain. His caress lit fire in my stomach, and I felt like I was going to throw up, again, but it was a different kind of nausea. 

Eren pulled a purple fleece blanket over the top of me, and it was _warm_ , like someone had taken the time to heat it up by the fire, and I knew that Eren had. It suddenly occurred to me that Eren actually gave a shit about me, and that he wasn't the insensitive bastard I'd assumed he was. 

He sat in the corner, and for a moment, he held my gaze. I could've gotten lost in his eyes, god _damn_ his eyes. I wanted to punch myself for not turning away from his stare, because for some reason, I found myself craving more of the brilliant blue that were his eyes. The color reminded me of the sky. It reminded me of freedom, and Eren's bright, burning passion and desire to live. I saw my own despair in his eyes, and I saw my solemnity and desire for isolation. Eren was everything I'd ever aspired to be. He was fiercer. I was clumsy with words. I was physically stronger. He was strong, too, but he awaited orders instead of acting freely. I was a dark cloud and he was a ray of sunshine. We were opposites, in every aspect of the word, drawn together by the dire situation that'd been thrown upon us. 

I didn't realize I was shivering until he crawled onto the makeshift mattress next to me. His warmth engulfed me like water. "What are you doing?" 

"Aren't you cold?" He asked, like I wasn't shaking uncontrollably. Instead of snapping back at him, I replied with a soft hum. "Here, this way you'll warm up," he whispered. Wrapping his arms around my torso. I couldn't tell if he'd just crossed the line between platonic and romantic, or if he was genuinely oblivious to the fact that we were _alone_ together in close proximity. He seemed ignorant of these boundaries, however, as he buried his face into my shoulder. I didn't complain, and the notion set another something in my stomach ablaze, but this time I knew I wasn't going to throw up, so I didn't move. 

The candlelight from the corner of the room began to slowly fade as the wick grew shorter and shorter, and I wondered how much longer it would burn for. "Hey?" I whispered, gently elbowing Eren's arm. 

"Yeah?" 

I swallowed, hard. " 'm Sorry. For, y'know. Being a prick, and all." 

Eren ruffled my hair, which I didn't take too kindly to, but I didn't tell him that. "It's okay. You're allowed to be upset. That's part of human nature." 

"You sound like Hanji, now," I groaned, turning over on my side so I could face him. 

" 's okay," was all he said. 

Perhaps it was the post-sickness delirium, or how little I'd eaten lately, but I suddenly felt compelled to press a kiss to his forehead. I lingered for longer than was platonically acceptable, but when I really thought about it, nothing about this situation was platonic at all. Nothing about this even came close to what normal friends would do, or perhaps my introverted side was leading me to believe that normal friends maintained a certain distance deemed uncrossable by both parties. Was it three feet? Two? None at all? Were there limits to the fields of friendship, or were they infinitely defined: always changing, and never the same? My mind swam with the possibilities, and before I could snap myself out of the daze I'd fallen into, I was falling asleep with my lips on Eren's forehead and my fingers threaded through his hair. 

—

He wasn't there when I woke up, nor did I expect him to be. He definitely had _somewhere_ to be, whether it was related to me at all was a different matter. The room didn't feel as cold as when I'd fallen asleep, but I still shivered faintly as I threw the blankets off of me. It took a lot of energy and motivation to sit up—most of which I didn't actually have. The room didn't spin, for once, and my stomach growled angrily. That was new. I hadn't truly felt hungry since before the shock hit me, when we'd first gotten back, and even then, it wasn't _true_ hunger.

I sat there, for a while, simply taking in the feeling of hunger again, and it felt foreign. It was almost like when you haven't gotten injured in a while, and when you finally do, it feels _different_ , in a sense. When you experience something repeatedly, (hunger, for example) you tend to take that feeling for granted. I'd forgotten how nice it felt to have my body working in a somewhat kindly manner, and I'd become accustomed to that feeling of panic directly after dinner when I realized that I hadn't seen the last of the spaghetti. 

It seems cruel and unusual, when thrown into perspective, but when you look at the whole image, it's not that bad. A few weeks of misery are nothing compared to a lifetime. However, I was beginning to think that if I tallied up the number of days I'd lived and compared it to the days I'd suffered, they might've just been the same. 

Eren had left me a bowl of soup and a roll. The roll and soup were warm, fresh from the kitchen, I assumed, and there was a piece of paper neatly tucked in the red cloth napkin on the side. He had the presentation down, I'd give him that. I bit into the roll, (I don't dip it in soup, that's _really_ gross,) and unfolded the letter carefully, too hungry and exhausted to care that I spilled a few crumbs on the blankets underneath me. 

_Levi,_

_By the time you read this, I'll probably be eating lunch. I've brought you breakfast, and I hope it's still hot by the time you read this. Everything was made fresh this morning. If you'd like, tonight, I can help you repair the hole in the back of your shirt. I also hope you feel better._

_—Eren_

He was right, there was a small hole in my nightshirt, and I either hadn't cared or been conscious enough to notice the fact that it had been there over the course of the past week. 

I folded up the note again and immediately set about eating the soup. It was some kind of vegetable soup, with little noodles that I couldn't remember the name of. They looked like corkscrews, but they weren't called corkscrews. Pasta had weird names, Hanji told me. After I'd finished eating, I picked up the tray and set it down on my desk in the office. Another note greeted me beside the rabbit cage, and it said: "I fed the rabbits, too," with a little happy face on the side. 

Breakfast stayed down, and I was ecstatic about that fact. I couldn't have been more happy that I'd finally kept something down. Hanji brought me a lunch of green-beans and more pasta, which I took and ate without hesitation. She stared at me in disbelief. 

"Someone's hungry," She smiled, sitting down in the chair in front of my desk. "Finally got your appetite back?" 

"Remind me if I feel like puking," I muttered, "to puke on you, first." 

Hanji snorted, rather unattractively, might I add. 

"I take that back. You'd probably use it for experiments." 

That made Hanji laugh even harder, and she let out a muffled declaration of: "that is so fucking gross." 

"You're gross," I said, sipping my tea. 

"You're grosser." Hanji stood up and took my plate. "I'll be back later for the cup, or something." 

I decided I was well overdue for a shower. The water was warm, for once, probably because no one had yet used it. If I'd waited a bit longer, it would've been all gone from the post-training showers that everyone simply _had_ to take. (It was like an unspoken rule, really.) Warm water was truly a luxury, especially for someone like me, who always gets around to taking showers in the unholy hours of the morning. 

I'd missed this. I'd missed the smell of soap, which, in my case, smelled like peaches, despite its marketed scent, which was almond. I'd always thought I'd picked up the wrong soap by accident, though after a while, I decided that peaches weren't all that bad. I'd missed the warm water flowing over my skin, and I'd missed the sight of water flowing freely down the drain. I rubbed underneath my fingernails, where the dirt and blood (and quite possibly, vomit) had caked there, until there was nothing left to wash away. I drowned the scent of sickness and uncleanliness out, and it spiraled down the drain along with everything else. 

Afterward, I cleaned the entire bathroom from top to bottom, just for good measure. Eren showed up halfway into my cleaning endeavor, and he immediately set down whatever he was holding to help me.

"I can't breathe," he muttered, fiddling with the white cloth I'd given him for his face. 

I almost laughed as I set down the sponge in my hands and peeled off my gloves. "Come here, you've got it on all wrong." Eren hesitated, and his eyes were full of uncertainty. "I don't bite, c'mere," I pulled my own facecloth down and attempted to smile, for the first time in months. He didn't react, he just sauntered over to where I stood and turned around so his back was to me. 

I giggled, almost audibly, but I stopped myself. Eren's hair had gotten long enough for him to be able to pull it back into a small ponytail. He'd tied it off with a little blue ribbon, and he must've subconsciously tied it in a bow. I gently tied the white cloth around his neck, and my touch lingered on his cheeks as I pulled the fabric above his nose. "There. Better?" 

"Yeah," Eren said. "What can I do?" 

I handed him a sponge from the tub and pointed to the sink. "I haven't done the sink yet, I guess." 

Eren nodded and immediately set to work. I found myself constantly sneaking glances at him in the mirror, but not once did he catch my stare, for which I was somewhat grateful. I was admiring his eyes, again. I suddenly realized that this was the _second_ time I'd been lost in thought about Eren's eyes, and I wasn't sure how exactly I wanted to feel about that. 

_You're in love with Petra_ , I kept telling myself, but I was constantly surrounded by the fact that she was gone, and she was dead, and she was never coming back. Every part of me was now avoiding that fact however possible. I was subconsciously ignoring the fact that she had ever existed. I had a new interest: _Eren._

I didn't know that it was even possible to be interested in two different people at the same time, nor did I know that it was possible to be interested in two people of the opposite gender. I didn't know whether I would call my potential feelings for Eren at the time 'Love,' nor would I call it anything serious, but I could tell that my mind was seriously considering falling for my subordinate, which is can't say I was entirely pleased about. It's not that I didn't like Eren; I liked Eren a lot, there was simply too high a risk of discovery, and if we were ever found out, he'd be removed from my squad. I was thinking too far ahead. Eren made my mind go all fuzzy and my stomach do this flippy-sideways-feeling thing that I couldn't explain, so I kept cleaning and tried to push the thoughts out of my head. 

We finished cleaning quickly enough, and by that time the sun had long since set. Eren told me he'd be back with dinner, so I put all of the cleaning things back. Moonlight spilled through the window and cast a dim light on the carpet of my room. It took less than a few moments to bring the fire back to life. 

Eren brought me another bowl of soup, but this kind was different; there were no vegetables, just broth. I drank it slowly, savoring the unique flavor that I couldn't describe, and set down my bowl on the carpet.

"What kind is it?" I set my unused spoon in the empty bowl. 

"The soup?" Eren asked, like there was something else that I could've been referring to. "Ginger, and chicken. I think. I'm pretty sure." He broke off a chunk of the loaf of bread he'd brought and handed it to me. "Here. Sorry, you drank all your soup." 

I took the piece from his hand, "Why would that be a problem?" 

"You can't dip it in your soup." 

"I don't do that. It's gross, it makes the bread all soggy." 

Eren nodded. "Thank gods I'm not alone in that opinion," he said, dryly, setting down his empty soup bowl. "Now!" 

His sudden change of tone startled me, and I jumped. He laughed, picked up the bowls, and set them down on the desk. "Here, I'll help you sew your shirt back together." He picked a small case up off of the desk and sat back down next to me. 

I'd been in a lot of awkward situations, but when I say I just _sat_ there cluelessly for two minutes, I mean I just sat there _cluelessly_ for two minutes. I know it was two minutes because I watched the clock on the mantle, and _exactly_ two minutes went by. It felt like two years. Everything feels like two years when you're clearly supposed to do something that you're not doing, and I had to wonder when I'd become so thick that I couldn't pick up on a single implication of: 'hey, take your shirt off,' but I couldn't be blamed, because I did have something to hide. The shirt I was currently wearing was also the last clean one I owned. 

"Uhm," I coughed, awkwardly breaking the silence that was already awkward enough. I pulled the sleeves of my shirt down so they covered my hands, and I bunched the excess fabric in my fists. 

Eren's eyes widened, almost comically. "Oh, I um—" he turned his head awkwardly to the side, avoiding my gaze. "Do you want me to—" 

"No, you're fine," I said, and I begun to unbutton the topmost buttons of my shirt. "This is my last clean shirt, though." 

"Oh," Eren breathed, and in the time it took him to let out a sigh, he'd involuntarily moved the fraction of an inch required for me to reenter his field of view, and he didn't try to hide the fact that he was staring. I could feel his gaze on my bare skin, and he was so close I could almost feel his labored breaths. Goose prickles spread across my flesh like wildfire, but I wasn't cold. I could feel my face grow red with embarrassment, and my hands began to sweat, but I wasn't hot. I felt like I was stuck in an over-sensitized middle ground between hot and cold. Cold fire surged through my veins, and I shivered. 

I gave Eren my shirt with steady hands, and his hands were unsteady as he took the garment. 

I could tell he couldn't stop shaking. I knew he'd done this before, but his hands fumbled and he appeared ridiculously unpracticed as he struggled to thread the sewing needle. He dropped the thread twice, and almost a third time, but I caught the spool before it could hit the floor. 

"Here, give it here." I held out my hand and he gave me the shirt, hands still shaking.

I may have been a blunt and crude person, but I didn't have the heart to tell him that I already knew how to sew. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'd sewn the shirt back together many times before, but Eren wasn't dumb. He was just as much bright as I was blunt and crude, and he picked up on the message immediately. 

I avoid making people upset whenever possible. I avoid _people_ whenever possible. I'm not a people person, nor am I anyone's go-to comfort figure. When someone gets upset, I get lost. I shut down; I forget how to speak and operate, and sometimes, I panic. Most of the time, I panic, but when Eren began to cry, right in front of me, I did not panic. I didn't know what to do, either, because it's not often that I find myself sitting shirtless on my bedroom carpet next to a crying teenager. It wasn't a situation that I'd ever imagined I'd be in. 

He wiped his nose on his sleeve, and I cringed. "I'm sorry, sir, I just—" 

"Drop it." 

"What?" 

"Drop the 'sir'. When we're alone, address me by my name." I was stepping further and further over the line separating formality and what everyone would define as 'too close', and I was treading into dangerous waters. Formalities were everything, and I'd just tossed away my last hope of keeping this (whatever this was,) strictly platonic. It made me wonder just how Petra's death had clouded my judgement: what could've possibly made me think that any kind of a relationship with a subordinate was at acceptable in any way was completely beyond me. 

"It's just—you know how to sew already, don't you?" He asked, and it was more of a statement than a question, because the look in his eyes clearly expressed the fact that he wasn't unsure.

"Yeah, I do. It's no big deal, really." I took the needle from between his fingertips, finished threading it, and shoved a few pins between my teeth. "There isn't much to it, I suppose." 

"Who taught you?" 

I paused and looked up. "How to sew?"

"Yeah." 

"Sister." 

Eren was surprised. He had this look on his face like I'd just told him that the ration on sugar had been uplifted, or something. He seemed so appalled that I had family, and his expression was so funny that I did laugh. I hadn't laughed in so long, and it felt nice. The laugh only caused Eren to look even more shocked, and that made me laugh even harder. I didn't even care how Eren felt about my laugh (I hated the way I laughed), because I was too caught up in the moment to even come close to caring. I laughed until the pins fell from my lips, and I laughed until my stomach hurt. Eren was still staring at me in disbelief when I finally gained some kind of control. I picked the pins up from the carpet and stuck them back in my mouth. 

"Sorry, you just looked so surprised, like you didn't believe I had family, or something." I began to pin the shirt back together where I planned to sew.

"No, you've never brought it up, so I figured—"

"You're right, of course. Nothing slips by you, Jaeger," I muttered the last bit rather sarcastically, hoping he'd take it as the joke that it was. He didn't comment on the gibe, nor did he acknowledge it. "I had a sister, and a brother, too." 

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?" 

"Titans." The response spoke for itself, really, and I hoped he wouldn't ask any more. He didn't. I had to give him that, at least he knew when to shut up. Shadis had been right—he _did_ lack any notable talent, but he did possess the extreme willpower and desire to improve and achieve greater things. That's what I had looked for when choosing trainees. Many people played the part well enough, but few actually possessed the true morale and motivation to show that their bite was just as bad as their bark. Few trainees fully expressed that they were who they claimed to be. Few trainees were as well-rounded as Eren was; intelligence and strength were not words often used together regarding recruits. 

I tied off the the string, ending the stitch, and when I looked up, Eren was smiling. It was a bitter and wry upturn of his lips, and he exhaled sharply. "You and me both, yeah?" 

"You and me both," I said, a somber echo in the silent room. I rolled the words around in my head. They sounded nice. 

_You and me both._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aay the formalities have been abandoned and the days of 'sir' are no more! Eren and Levi are officially buddies who are who are so far back in the closet they're going to have to pull the mothballs out of their hair when they come out! Hooray! 
> 
> The next chapter may be a bit delayed since I have to work on the last chapter of Remember Me, since I realized it's not quite done yet. :p it shouldn't be too long though, so hang tight. 
> 
> —
> 
> Thank you to my [girlfriend](http://nightvaleandotherweirdness.tumblr.com) who is allergic to ginger and has been subject to sickness after eating spaghetti and still managed to beta this chapter 
> 
> My tumblr changed I'm not lord-Rivaille anymore I'm [er-uri](http://er-uri.tumblr.com) so donut be confused


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